


(Space) The Final Frontier

by breezered



Category: Star Trek, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Sci-Fi, Star Trek AU, it's like a space au with the help of star trek, kind of ish a military au, whatever man it's an au with clexa, you don't need to know star trek to like this i hope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezered/pseuds/breezered
Summary: Commander’s log, Stardate 61842.3. - The new crew members are arriving shortly. Turnover at the station was much greater than anticipated after Polis’s first year of operations. Few people enjoy the isolation of deep space and wish to return to a posting within the Alpha quadrant. Being the first Starfleet station deep in the Gamma Quadrant means that supplies are limited, visitors are few, and contact with the rest of the Federation is minimal. I can only hope that these new officers will be able to handle the rigours of life in deep space.





	1. Stardate 61842.3

_Commander’s log, Stardate 61842.3. The new crew members are arriving shortly. Turnover at the station was much greater than anticipated after Polis’s first year of operations. Few people enjoy the isolation of deep space and wish to return to a posting within the Alpha quadrant. Being the first Starfleet station deep in the Gamma Quadrant means that supplies are limited, visitors are few, and contact with the rest of the Federation is minimal. I can only hope that these new officers will be able to handle the rigours of life in deep space._

 

* * *

 

 Deep Space Station 12 is unlike anything Clarke has ever seen. From her position on the viewing deck of the _USS Celerity_ , she can see the five arms of the station reaching out to the space around them, the central sphere topped with a large disc that, according to the blueprints that she had received upon assignment, doubles as both the centre of operations and a long range communications receiver. The arms are connected by the docking ring near the end of their reach, each arm capped off with impulse thrusters. The habitat ring encircles the central sphere, with large windows along each deck.

“It’s amazing,” Clarke breathes out as the starship draws closer to the docking station. From beside her, Raven Reyes lets out a low whistle and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Home sweet home, doc,” Raven says, squeezing Clarke to her side. “Deep Space 12, Starfleet’s most remote station. Surrounded by nothing but space. Closest planet is almost 200 light years away.” Raven lets out a small chuckle. “It’s fucking amazing.” 

Clarke nods. “It really is.” The two women stand there in silence, watching as the station slowly grows as it comes nearer. Clarke has seen her fair share of space stations in her life, growing up on board starships with her parents, but this station, surrounded by vast nothingness…is breathtaking. 

The serenity of the moment is broken by the ship’s captain’s voice sounding over the comm system. “All personnel reporting to duty at Deep Space Station 12, please report to the docking bridge for final briefing and official transfer of duties and assignments.” Raven drops her arm from Clarke’s shoulders and straightens her uniform jacket. 

“Ready?” 

“We’d better be,” Clarke answers, and together they make their way to the turbo lift. When the doors open, there are already three officers in the lift. Ensign Jasper Jordan greets Clarke and Raven with his usual goofy smile. 

“Doctor Griffin, Lieutenant Commander Reyes,” Lieutenant Monty Green acknowledges them with a respectful head nod. Behind him, the Bajoran Lieutenant Blake Octavia nods stiffly. The ride in the turbo lift was silent, and Clarke can feel Raven bouncing slightly next to her, with either excitement or nerves, Clarke can’t tell. But the energy is contagious and soon, all the officers in the lift are twitching subtly. Clarke watches as Lt. Green tugs at the sleeves of his uniform, Ens. Jordan taps his hands against his thighs disconnectedly, and Lt. Blake huffs out each of her breaths. 

The lift doors open to Deck 7, and the group of officers make their way through the corridors to the docking bridge. There are already a number of people waiting at the bridge. All of them, like Clarke and her companions, wear their uniform jackets over the usual uniform shirt. Captain Cartwig is standing at the door to the docking bridge, hands clasped behind her back and her eyes sweeping over the gathered personnel. An Andorian officer greets them and takes down their names, rank, and assigned position. 

“We’re just waiting for clearance to dock, and then you’ll be on your way,” he tells them. They all say their thanks and move to join the group. Clarke takes a deep breath and straightens her posture.

 

* * *

 

_“Clarke, this assignment will take you into the Gamma quadrant,” Abigail Griffin says as she looks over the information Clarke had sent her just a moment before. “Deep Space Station 12 is barely functional, and there are no reinforcements close by to provide supplies, combat aid, repair parts-“_

_“I’m completely aware, thanks mom,” Clarke interrupts with an eye-roll. “Has it occurred to you that I chose this assignment_ because _of those factors, and not in spite of them?” Her mother sighs heavily, and Clarke can feel Abby’s patience draining even through the video call._

_“Is this because of what happened on Tiobos VII?” Abby’s eyebrows pull together in concern. “Honey, you can’t keep running away from-“_

_“Mom, I have to go,” Clarke interrupts again, “I’ll call you later, okay?” She avoids looking at the screen and clenches her jaw. She knew calling her mom would be a mistake, this always happens. She questions every decision Clarke makes, as if Clarke isn’t a fully qualified Starfleet Officer and an adult who is more than capable of making her own choices._

_Abby looks at her daughter for a moment, and for a moment Clarke thinks she’s going to receive a lecture, or a therapy session, or something equally as unappealing, but then Abby just sighs and says, “Okay, Clarke. Take care of yourself.”_

_She smiles through her frustration. “You too, mom.” Clarke ends the communication, her mom’s face blinking out and leaving Clarke staring at her own reflection in the screen._

 

* * *

The doors at the end of the docking bridge open and at the signal of Captain Cartwig, the group of officers make their way across the bridge and onto the station. The docking bay is a high-ceilinged room with a console near the far door attended by an officer with the security and engineering yellow on their uniform. Beside them stood an intimidating Vulcan woman, her uniform jacket done up over her red uniform shirt, the high red collar indicating her position as a command officer. Raven nudged Clarke as the came to stand in the bay.

“Think that’s the CO?” Raven asked quietly. Clarke shrugged, her gaze locked onto the Vulcan. The doors to the ship close behind them and the officers stand at attention, backs straight and eyes forward. Their lines are uneven and the positions of ranked officers are incorrect. The Vulcan officer steps out in front of them. Her gaze is piercing and Clarke feels like she is being scanned and scrutinized by this woman, even though she knows that there’s no way she’s being singled out in the mess of personnel. 

“At ease,” the Vulcan says, her voice clear and commanding. The officers all assume the at ease position. “Welcome to Deep Space 12, or Station _Polis_. I am your first officer, Lieutenant Commander Anya T’Al. As you know, this station is almost totally isolated from the rest of Starfleet. We’re hoping to change that within the next five years. You all submitted your names for consideration for this assignment, and you should all be aware that assignment to this station will last at minimum five years and you are all expected to stay for that allotted time.” She looked them over with a disdainful eyebrow raised. “Ensign Vie will give each of you your assignments, and you will report to them promptly. The officers you are replacing or reinforcing will be waiting for you and will give you any information you will need to perform your duties here. Dismissed.” 

Clarke and Raven joined the line of personnel waiting to receive their duty assignments, Clarke’s heart rate picking up the closer she got to the front of the line. 

“I can hear your panic from here, doc,” Raven says, patting Clarke on the back softly. 

“Do you have to call me that?” Clarke groaned. “It makes me sound like my mother.” Raven laughed, squeezing Clarke’s shoulders.

“There are worse things to be, doc,” she said, “and besides, you’ll have to get used to it. You’re the station’s doctor.” 

“I’m also your and many others’ superior officer, Reyes,” Clarke teases, shooting Raven a grin over her shoulder. “So you’d better shape up.” Raven rolls her eyes and pushes Clarke a little bit. Before Clarke can turn and push Raven back, Lt. Commander T’Al appears beside them.

“Are you Dr. Griffin?” She asks, her eyes locking with Clarke’s. Clarke straightens her back and steadies her gaze with the Lieutenant Commander’s. 

“Yes ma’am.”

LtC. T’Al nods curtly. “Come with me.” Clarke exchanges a look with Raven as the Lieutenant Commander turns on her heels and walks away briskly. Clarke follows her out the docking bay doors and through the halls. 

“Are you uncomfortable walking next to your commanding officer, or are you simply not quick enough to keep pace?” LtCR. T’Al says without slowing down or looking over her shoulder. 

“I thought that since I have minimal knowledge of the station’s layout, I would benefit more from following you than trying to keep pace with you on my first walkthrough of the station,” Clarke shoots back. They reach a turbo lift, and Clarke suddenly feels very self-conscious of her posture next to this Vulcan woman who holds her posture like she is made of stone. LtCR. T’Al steps inside the turbo lift and Clarke stands evenly next to her.

“Boardwalk,” the Vulcan commands, and the turbo lift takes off. “You have an impressive background, doctor. Top of your class in the command division, exceptional duty records as an ensign and Junior Lieutenant. I was surprised to learn all of that, considering you are now a medical officer.” LtCR. T’Al looks over at Clarke, looking her up and down. “I find it hard to comprehend why you suddenly just decided to become a medical officer when you were on a fast track to your own command.” 

Clarke sets her jaw and stares at the lift doors. “I prefer healing people to shooting them.” LtCR. T’Al tilts her head to the side, regarding Clarke with a look that Clarke can’t quite place. Before LtCR. T’Al can comment, the lift stops and the doors slide open. Clarke steps out and can’t help the small gasp that escapes her. 

The boardwalk is a large circular area, with two levels of balconies around the edges. Clarke can see the doors to the mess hall straight across from the lift, which is placed in the middle of the boardwalk, to create a type of doughnut shape. Large windows that reach from the ceiling to the floor surround the area, exposing the space around them shockingly. 

LtCR. T’Al leads her around the lift to the medical bay. The room is divided into a treatment area and a small office by a glass divider, the walls stocked with medical equipment. There are four medical beds and a door at the back that Clarke assumes will lead her to a surgical room. 

“Our previous medical officer died in a transporter accident,” LtCR. T’Al explains as Clarke walks around the room inspecting the supplies and equipment. “We’ll have more supplies now that the _Celerity_ has arrived, but you’ll have to get used to the fact that out here, supplies are minimal and accidents are frequent.” The Lieutenant Commander grabs a tablet and taps it a few times, then walks over to Clarke and hands it to her. “This has all the codes you’ll need to access the more restricted medical equipment, as well as personnel files and whatever else may be pertinent to this position.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant T’Al,” Clarke says. “This is probably going to take some getting used to, honestly. I’ve never been out on the…frontier, for lack of a better word.” Clarke gives LtCR. T’Al a wry grin, and immediately mental reprimands herself. The Vulcan, as Clarke should have had the forethought to realise, didn’t smile back. 

“Someone with your background should have no problem adjusting,” the Lieutenant Commander replies. “The Commander wanted you to set up meetings with all the personnel so that you can conduct physicals and get any information you may need for records. She will also be making the rounds of the new personnel throughout the week, so you will be expected to keep regular hours this week. Hours may be adjusted as you desire after this week.” Clarke nods and continues to look through the list of names on the tablet. The Vulcan doesn’t move from her spot near the door, and eventually Clarke looks up and raises an eyebrow

“Did you need anything, Lieutenant?” Clarke asks.

“The Commander wanted me to bring you up to her ready-room when you finished here,” LtCR. T’Al says. “I assume you do not need to memorize every personnel chart at this precise moment. The Commander is a busy woman, she does not have an infinite amount of time to waste waiting for her subordinate officers to obey her orders.” Clarke clenches her teeth and smiles tightly at the Lieutenant, carefully placing the tablet down on what is now her desk. She claps her hands together and gestures to the door.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

 

* * *

The Commander’s ready-room is adjacent to the Operations centre. Both rooms are round and high-ceilinged, but unlike the Ops centre, the ready-room is surrounded by tall windows almost 360 degrees around. Only the section of wall that is connected to Ops is not taken over by a window, instead it is dominated by tall double-doors that are semi-transparent. LtCR. T’Al leads Clarke to these doors and knocks once. A moment later the doors swing open, and Clarke steps through the doorway. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the figure standing with her back to the doors, the red uniform jacket of the command division standing out as a stark contrast to the black of the space outside the windows. 

“Commander, I’ve brought doctor Clarke Griffin as you requested,” LtCR. T’Al announces. 

“Thank you, Anya,” the Commander acknowledges without turning around. She lies her hand in a dismissive way. “Leave us.” LtCR. T’Al tilts her head respectfully and exits the room, doors shutting behind her. Clarke folds her hands in front of her, and suppresses her surprise when the Commander turns to face her.

She’s a young woman, probably barely older than Clarke. Her eyes are surrounded by thick black eyeliner, and her braided hair is done up in a very regal fashion. But Clarke is most amazed by the small black marks that run down the sides of her face and neck, leading into her uniform. 

“You’re a Trill,” Clarke says, unable to stop herself before the words run away. 

The Commander inclines her head slightly. “And you’re a human,” she says. “But we are both Starfleet officers. And I have heard many things about you, Clarke Griffin.” She gestures to the seat in front of her desk, and Clarke slowly moves towards it, waiting to sit until the Commander has sat in her own seat. 

“It’s funny you should say that, Commander,” Clarke says, locking her eyes with her CO’s, “because I haven’t heard anything about you.” A small smile flits across the Commander’s face, so brief that Clarke almost thinks she’s imagine it.

“I am Commander Lexa Wulfrek Heda,” the Commander says.

“Wulfrek is a Klingon name,” Clarke interjects, “but you’re a Trill.” The Commander’s eyes narrow and Clarke is quick to try and rectify her mistake. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend I just - I’ve never met a Trill before. Especially not one with a Klingon name.” 

“I was raised by Klingons,” the Commander says. “It is not something I keep hidden. But personal histories are not the reason I have brought you here today.” Before she can continue, the comm system sounds over their heads. 

“Commander Wulfr-Lex-Heda-“ the voice over the comm that Clarke knows so well quiets as Raven grumbles, “what the fuck name am I supposed to use, she has a fucking million…no name? What the fu-“ Raven’s volume increases, “Commander, I need you down in engineering ASAP. This is Lieutenant Commander Reyes, by the way.” The Commander looks extremely affronted, and Clarke represses a smile. No amount of Starfleet training and intervention has ever been able to instil any sense of discipline or decorum in Raven Reyes. 

The Commander taps her comm badge and replies, “On my way, Lieutenant.” Clarke stands abruptly as the Commander does, and awaits a dismissal. “Dr. Griffin, please accompany me. We can talk on our way down to engineering.” Clarke nods and they make their way out of the ready-room to the turbo lift. Silence settles between them as the lift takes them to the engineering deck, and Clarke finds herself staring at the Commander’s profile. The black marks that identify her as Trill are unexpectedly beautiful, and the combination of the strange marks with a profile and posturing that Clarke can only think to describe as regal, make her an impressive figure to watch, even just riding a turbo lift. 

“Do you make it a habit to stare at your fellow officers, doctor?” The Commander quips, her eyes still stuck straight ahead. Clarke feels herself flush at being found out, averting her eyes up to the ceiling. 

“I’ve just never met a Trill before,” Clarke confesses, “and I’ve only ever read about your physiology and culture in classes before.” She cringes at her own words. “I’m sorry, that sounded like I don’t see you as a person. That’s not at all what I meant-“

The Commander cuts her off with the same hand gesture she used to dismiss LT. T’Al. “I do not easily take offence, doctor,” she says, looking over at Clarke. “I understand your curiosity. When I was young and met my first human, I quickly learned that your species is, more often than not, inquisitive to the point of intrusive. I’m sure that over our time here, you’ll have plenty of time to study my physiology.” As soon as the words leave her lips, the Commander’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline and Clarke watches as blood flushes her cheeks. Clarke coughs lightly and holds back a laugh. The Commander is saved from her embarrassment by the arrival of the lift at the engineering deck. 

“Are you familiar with Lieutenant Commander Reyes?” the Commander asks as they walk towards central engineering. 

Clarke nods, a smile creeping its way onto her lips. “Yes, Raven and I were roommates at the academy and had our first assignment together.” 

“Is she always so…” the Commander trails off and Clarke laughs.

“Brash? Undisciplined? Impetuous? Undiplomatic?” 

The Commander’s lips almost betray a smile. “Yes, I suppose so.” 

“Our last year at the academy, Raven received over a dozen reprimands for everything ranging from improper uniform to public indecency,” Clarke grins. “Our Deep Space 401 professor calls her the ‘Miracle Officer’ because he couldn’t believe that someone with such disrespect for Starfleet’s rules and regulations could have made it past their first month at the academy. Of course, being a certified genius and as stubborn as she is meant that Raven is probably the best engineer to ever come out of the academy.” 

They arrive at the doors to central engineering and the Commander seems to straighten her posture even more. The doors slide open and they are met by a blast of steam and a cacophony of noise. Clarke follows the Commander into the steamy room, covering her mouth with her arm. 

“Lieutenant Commander Reyes?” The Commander calls into the steam.

“Just give me a hot second and I’ll be right there to fix whatever problem you’re here with!” Raven calls from somewhere inside the steamy room. 

“I believe _you_ summoned _me_ here, Lieutenant,” the Commander responds evenly, her eyes narrowing as she tries to make out figures in the haze. There’s a loud bang, a flash of green light, and then the steam starts dissipating. Once the steam has cleared enough to see more than one foot in front of them, Clarke bites back a laugh at the sight in front of her.

Raven is sitting on top of the OPs console near the plasma regulator, her uniform jacket on the floor in a heap, her shirtsleeves rolled up to her shoulders and about three tools clutched in each hand. Clarke sneaks a glance at the Commander and presses her lips together to stop the smile that is bound to surface as she takes in the Commander’s expression of shock. dropping her tools on the console and gracefully sliding down to the land on her feet, Raven wipes a hand across her forehead and smiles cheekily. 

“This is one peppy station you’ve got here, Commander,” Raven says. “Took her all of ten minutes to start acting up and throwing a damn fit now that she’s got a new engineer.” A small burst of sparks erupts from the console’s base and Raven quickly drops to the ground and crawls under the console. “For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t personal,” she grumbles. “Doc, wanna toss me my hyperspanner?” Clarke walks over and grabs the hyperspanner from the console and slaps it into Raven’s waiting hand. 

“What did I say about calling me doc?” Clarke complains under her breath.

Raven just snorts from under the console. “Decoupler please, _doc_.” 

Clarke begrudgingly hands down the required tool.

“Lieutenants, as much as I am enjoying watching you work, I’ve got a station to run and about thirty new officers to address,” the Commander says in an even but obviously impatient tone, “so I would appreciate getting right to business, as it were.” 

“Sure thing, Commander,” Raven says, “but if I stop right now, this whole deck will go boom and I don’t think that exploding an entire deck on my first day is quite the impression I’m trying to make.” Clarke rolls her eyes, knowing full well that if it wouldn’t endanger lives, Raven would love to make an entire deck explode on her first day. 

Clarke and the Commander wait while Raven finished up her repairs on the console. There are a few other engineering officers around, but they are all rushing about to various consoles and circuit boards. 

“Okay, that should do it,” Raven says, emerging from under the console and sitting up, leaning her elbows on her knees. “Listen, Commander, I respect that this station is one of a kind, forefront of Starfleet technology, all that jazz. I understand that we, as a crew, are to be pushing the boundaries of all things space, but I don’t understand how in the hell I am supposed to fix any of this tech when most of it barely a year old and the manuals are still being written.” The Commander listens to Raven’s complaints stoically, and appears to be fully engaged in the conversation, whether that is true or not. 

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Lieutenant,” the Commander says at the end of Raven’s long rant, and Clarke realizes she must have been tuned out for over two minutes. “However, the only way I can see to remedy any of this is to find myself another Chief of Engineering who feels more up to the task of being on the frontline of technological discovery and innovation.” 

Raven scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, and Clarke groans internally. “I never said I wasn’t ‘up to the task’, I just said that you’ve essentially got repair tech for systems that are barely a year old, which means that any repair that I or my team perform will hold for a way shorter amount of time than it will need to.” Clarke notes the way that Raven is gripping the decoupler like she’s getting ready to decouple the Commander’s head from her body if she keeps on this path of discussion.

“Are you saying that you are incapable of developing tools and repairs that would be sufficient?” The Commander challenges.

Raven bristles even further and sticks her chin out. “There’s no one more qualified in the entire galaxy.” 

“So I was told when I selected you for duty on board my station,” the Commander acquiesces. “Dr. Griffin spoke quite highly of you just before I came down to engineering, and the recommendations I received from your previous commanding officers lead me to believe that you are the only officer I want to work as Chief Engineer on my station.” The Commander quirks an eyebrow at the engineer. “Are you willing to deal with a few hinderances and do your part to lead Starfleet into the next half of the 25th century?” 

Raven smirks. “I can see why you’re the commander,” she says. “Let’s do this thing.” Clarke smiles fondly as the engineer startles at the sound of another small explosion and gives the Commander and Clarke a soppy salute, grabbing her tools and striding off in the direction of the explosion. “I’ll see you later for dinner, doc!” She throws over her shoulder. Clarke just barely catches the following grumbling; “If this fucking station can hold itself together long enough for me to get a morsel of food anywhere near my mouth.”

As they leave engineering, Clarke thinks the Commander looks almost relieved to be moving away from the chaos of Raven’s department. 

“Computer, what time is it?” The Commander asks.

“ _It is 1325._ ” 

The Commander sighs and rolls her shoulders back, stepping into the turbo lift with Clarke. Then she turns to Clarke. “Unfortunately, I’m due in security to meet the new officers shortly.” She seems sincerely regretful, and Clarke feels a small drop in her stomach when she realizes that this unconventional meeting is coming to a close. She chalks it up to having to return to sickbay and go over endless personnel files. 

“I’m afraid I did not get the chance to go over everything I had planned, but you’ll soon find that nothing on _Polis_ ever goes as planned.” 

“It would probably be pretty boring out here if nothing ever went awry,” Clarke says. 

The Commander nods, and Clarke sees a glimpse of the same fleeting smile she’s seen before. “Perhaps we will be able to continue this briefing another time,” the Trill woman suggests, “once everything has settled down to it’s usual levels of chaos.”

“That sounds like a good plan, Commander,” Clarke affirms with a smile. 

“Lexa,” the Commander says firmly. “You’re my chief medical officer, I do not believe that we need to rely on such formalities when we are alone or with other senior officers. _Polis_ is not a ship, and the postings here are long. You may call me Lexa.” The turbo lift arrives at Ops and Lexa steps out.

“Clarke,” Clarke blurts out, stopping the doors from closing with her hand. “It only seems fair that the first name basis goes both ways. Besides, Dr. Griffin is my mother.” 

Lexa smiles a very small, but definitely present, smile. “I will see you soon, Clarke.” The turbo lift doors close and Clarke gives the command to the lift to take her to the boardwalk. She decides to keep telling herself that it’s the dreading of paperwork that’s giving her that mild swooping sensation in her stomach. 

 


	2. Stardates 61842.7 - 61847.9

_Chief Medical Officer’s log, stardate 61842.7. After going through all of the personnel files available to me, I have realized that this job is going to be a lot busier than anticipated. The previous medical officer’s data entries paint a picture of daily incidents around the ship - burns from engineering accidents, food poisoning from replicator malfunctions, the list goes on. I won’t be making any groundbreaking medical discoveries, but it doesn’t look like I’ll ever be bored._

* * *

 

 

To no one’s surprise, Clarke’s first patient is Raven. She comes in supported by two junior Lieutenants. Clarke sighs and puts down the tablet she had been reading from, directing the two officers to deposit Raven onto the nearest medical bed. 

“What’s up, doc?” Raven greets cheerily through her clenched teeth, wincing as she tries to sit up. Clarke walks over with her medical tricorder and begins to scan her friend. 

“You know, Lieutenant Commander Reyes, making things go ‘boom’ is not highly recommended near plasma conduits,” Clarke says. She puts down the tricorder and rolls up Raven’s sleeve to expose the large plasma burn on her shoulder. “And there’s a reason you’re supposed to wear your regulation coveralls when you’re working in engineering.” Clarke takes her time getting the dermal regenerator and Raven groans as she slowly lies back onto the bed. 

“It’s these stupid advanced systems that Starfleet rushed to install on this godforsaken station,” Raven moans. “It’s like they took some theories about energy relaying and ju- _ow, what the fuck_!” Clarke rolls her eyes as she runs a dermal regenerator over the burn.

“No pain, no gain,” Clarke rattles off.

Raven crunches her eyes closed and hisses a breath through her teeth. “You know, Clarke, if you want me to stop calling you doc, you really have to stop acting so much like your moth- _FUCK,_ is this your first time using one of those?” 

Clarke smirks. “All done, Lieutenant.” She leans in and whispers in Raven’s ear, “Call me my mother again and you’ll see just how skilled I am with my medical equipment.” Leaning back, she pats Raven on the back and returns to her desk, placing her equipment back in it’s container. Raven hops down off the bed and nods at her two officers.

“Let’s get going.” And then, making sure Clarke can hear her, “Since Dr. Griffin here doesn’t seem to be in the visiting mood, we’ll get right out of her pretty blonde hair.” Clarke has to physically keep herself from breaking decorum and flipping Raven off as she leaves. 

Clarke returns to the files she had been reading before Raven came in. After a minute, the words start to bleed together and a grumble from her stomach makes Clarke drop her head onto her desk. 

“Computer, what time is it?” She mumbles, facedown on the desk. 

“ _It is 1942._ ” 

Clarke sits up and leans back in her chair, tapping her comm badge. “Griffin to Reyes.” 

“ _What’s up doc?_ ” Raven’s voice sounds clearly over the comm system. 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner, but if you’re going to keep being so annoying I rescind my invitation,” Clarke answers. 

“ _Sorry doc, I’ve got around a million plasma conduits that need recoupling and I don’t trust any of these frontier losers to do them properly considering the state that I found this place in._ ”

“Alright, have fun with your plasma,” Clarke laughs. “But not too much fun. If anything pulls me away from my food, I’m going to let your burns heal the natural way the next time.” 

“ _Roger that, doc._ ” The comm system shut off, and Clarke stands up. She engages the locks on sickbay as she leaves, and strolls around the boardwalk to where she saw the mess hall earlier. 

What Clarke finds is more of a bar than a mess hall. There are officers milling around, sitting at tables and the bar, uniform jackets being draped over backs of chairs. Clarke walks over the bar and slides onto a stool, knocking her knuckles on the bar. A holographic selectionmenu pops up out of the bar, and Clarke quickly taps in her clearance code and orders Enolian spice wine and the meal of the day. The ordered food and drink replicate onto the bar in front of her and she digs in. The food is good, but Clarke thinks she’s going to get Raven to take a look at the replicators soon, because there’s a definite aftertaste lingering in her mouth that tastes a little like how stale recycled air smells. 

“Here’s a face I haven’t seen since Risa,” a deep voice sounded from behind Clarke. She put down her fork and spun around on the stool to come face to face with a tall Bajoran man.

“Bellamy,” Clarke greets with a smile, “there’s a very good reason that I haven’t seen you since Risa.” Bellamy grins and holds out his arms. Clarke gets up and accepts the embrace. She pulls back and puts her hands on his shoulders. “Let me look at you, Major Blake.” Bellamy rolls his eyes and tugs on his Bajoran military uniform. His hair has grown out since Clarke last saw him, and Clarke is relieved to find that he’s stopped using an insane amount of hair gel.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, gesturing at the bar.

Clarke grabs her food and drink, nodding over at an empty table. “Let’s grab that table, it looks like we’ve got a lot to catch up on.” The two officers make their way to the table, squeezing past a rowdy group of ensigns who look like they are trying their first glasses of Klingon blood wine. Clarke sets down her meal and settles into her chair. Bellamy sits down across from her, quickly replicating himself a tall glass of Andorian ale. 

“So, Major Blake,” Clarke says with a hint of incredulity, “you managed to get a Starfleet posting in the Gamma quadrant. Please, tell me how you ever managed to land this posting.” Her words are teasing, and Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her as he takes a long drink. 

“I guess I just charmed the right people on Bajor,” he retorts with a smile. 

Clarke laughs, “I would believe it. I watched you charm your way through almost every man and woman on Risa, I can’t imagine the Bajoran high council is much different.” 

“If only it had been that simple,” Bellamy says. “No, I went through about thirty levels of bureaucracy and an endless pile of paperwork to get this posting. As soon as I heard Octavia was applying, I handed in my notice to the starship I was serving on, and I struggled through all that bureaucratic bullshit to get here before she did.” Clarke hides her frown behind her glass of wine. 

“Have you told Octavia that you’re here?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck. “I, uh, haven’t told her exactly, no.” Clarke sighs and leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Hate to break it to you, Bellamy, but I think Octavia might eventually notice her brother living on the same space station.” 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” he says. “But I want to know what this is all about!” He gestures at her uniform and shakes his head. “Lieutenant Commander Clarke Griffin, the most promising command candidate in Starfleet, is now a station’s doctor. Please, tell me how the hell that happened.” 

Clarke frowns. “I’m afraid it’s just that,” she says, “I just needed a change of pace. Besides, the Griffin name is much more marketable as a physician, thanks to my mom.” Bellamy matches her frown and Clarke braces herself for what she knows will come next. 

“I heard about Tiobos VII,” he says in an uncharacteristically soft voice. “Listen, Clarke, I’m so sorry-“ 

Clarke stands abruptly and cuts him off. “I have to go back to sickbay,” she says brusquely. “I have a ton of files to go over. It was really nice to see you Bell, I’ll catch up with you later.” She walks briskly out of the bar, not paying attention to where she is heading. The previously spacious and welcoming boardwalk now feels suffocating, and Clarke keeps walking without destination. She thinks about going back to sickbay like she told Bellamy, but the idea of looking at any more medical files makes her want to jump out an airlock. So Clarke decides there is no time like the present to try and find her quarters.

 

* * *

 

The next morning comes too quickly for Clarke. Even after the recommended eight hours of sleep and about three cups of coffee, she feels poorly rested and groggy. Slipping on her more casual blue uniform jacket, Clarke begins to head to sickbay. As she leans against the wall of the turbo lift, stifling a yawn, the comm system sounds.

“ _Commander to Dr. Griffin._ ”

Clarke blinks away the yawn and taps her comm badge. “Go ahead, Commander.”

“ _Your presence is required in OPs as soon as you are able._ ” 

“Yes, Commander. On my way.” Clarke ends the transmission and stretches her neck back. “OPs,” she redirects the turbo lift and twists her back, regretting not drinking that fourth cup of coffee. The turbo lift stops at another deck briefly, picking up a few officers on their way to their stations, talking quietly amongst themselves. The all greet her with a salute and she nods back, wishing that there were fewer marks on her rank. The turbo lift arrives at OPs, and Clarke steps out into a smoky mess. She sees the Commander - Lexa - standing in front of the command chair, with LtCR. T’Al at her side. Clarke recognizes ENS. Jordan at the helm and LT. Green at the science station. No one looks to be in immediate danger or bodily harm, but then Clarke finds the source of the smoke. Raven is standing at the communications station, angrily muttering to herself as she pries off the top of the main console. Clarke makes her way over to the Commander, hoping that she doesn’t look half as tired as she feels. 

“Good morning, Commander, Lieutenant,” Clarke greets, coming to stand at Lexa’s side. “What seems to be the problem?” Lexa turns and meets her eyes, the same faint smile crossing her lips as when they parted yesterday. 

“And to you, Clarke,” she says. “As you can see, there was a slight…malfunction with our communications console.” Raven laughs loudly at that, and LtCR. T’Al frowns slightly. “There are two injured officers in my ready room who need medical attention.” Lexa turns and grabs a medical kit from under the command chair, handing it to Clarke. Clarke nods and takes the kit, heading to the ready room. 

Seated at the desk are two officers wearing the yellow uniform jackets of operations officers. They turn around at the sound of the doors opening, and Clarke is met with one familiar face and one hulking figure of a man, both with burns on their hands and faces.

“Why am I not surprised that you and Raven are among my first patients?” Clarke says, smiling as Octavia rolls her eyes. “You were giving me the cold shoulder the whole way here onboard the _Celerity,_ Octavia.” Clarke mockingly reprimands the Bajoran woman as she places the med kit on the desk and pulls out the tricorder. 

“I was busy with my cleansing,” Octavia says, “A clean slate before a new assignment as is tradition.” Clarke hums in acknowledgement, and smiles at the man beside Octavia. 

“Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t recognize you,” she greets him. “I’m Dr. Clarke Griffin.”

The man inclines his head and says in a voice that is much softer than Clarke expected. “Officer Lincoln, son of Rabok.” Clarke notes the ridges on his forehead and his impressive stature. 

“Are you Klingon, Officer Lincoln?” Clarke inquires as she scans him with her tricorder. 

“Half, yes,” he replies. “My mother was a Klingon. My father was a human.” Clarke nods and moves to scan Octavia. 

“Well you both have minor burns, obviously” Clarke reports. “I’ll go over you with the dermal regenerator, but since the burns are on both of your hands and faces, you should know that you’ll still experience some discomfort for a few hours.” 

“So have you been around the station much?” Octavia asks Clarke as she goes over the burns on her hands. “When I was looking over the blueprints, I noticed they have four holodecks.” Clarke moves the regenerator to the left side of Octavia’s face, gently holding the girl’s chin to keep her steady. 

“I haven’t been around much,” Clarke admits. “I spent most of yesterday going over personnel files. And I ran into Bellamy.” As soon as she speaks, Clarke realizes her mistake. Octavia whips her head around to face Clarke and Clarke lowers the dermal regenerator. “Octavia, you need to keep still if you want me to heal these burns properly.” 

“Bellamy is here?!” She exclaims, looking ready to leap out of her seat. Clarke grips Octavia’s chin and turns her face back to the side. “What the hell is he doing here?” Clarke shakes Octavia’s chin a little.

“Octavia, if you don’t stop moving and keep talking, you’re going to end up looking like a Cardassian,” Clarke reprimands, and Octavia stubbornly sets her jaw. Clarke runs over the burns a few times and then releases the girl from her grip. “There. Now you can go beat up your brother. You’re welcome for saving your face.” Clarke shakes her head as Octavia storms out of the ready room. Officer Lincoln watches her leave and meets Clarke’s eyes. 

“Lieutenant Blake is…” He trails off, and Clarke laughs. 

“A ‘handful’ is probably the word you’re looking for,” she sighs. “I’m just glad I’m not Bellamy.” She sits across from the half-Klingon man and he holds out his hands, burns up. She smiles at him in thanks. “Are you one of the new transfers, officer?” She begins running the dermal regenerator over his palms, being careful not to move too quickly and cause him pain. While she’s sure that he is capable of handling it, something about the gentle way in which this man presents himself is contagious. 

“No, I was one of the first officers stationed here,” he answers. “I served with Heda - apologies, I mean the Commander. I served with her aboard the _USS Washington_ before we both received our postings here on _Polis_.” 

“You know the Commander well?” Clarke asks, moving her regenerator to the officer’s face. 

“Very few people can say they know the Commander well,” he says. “I served under her for many years, and I will likely continue to do so. At least for the remainder of our time here on _Polis_.” 

“You called her Heda,” Clarke prompts, “why does she have so many titles?” She runs the regenerator over his face one last time before turning it off and leaning back in her chair.

“She became Heda when she took on the symbiont,” Lincoln explains. “Commander is her rank, and her birthright. Lexa is the name she was given by her parents, and Wulfrek is the name of the Klingon house that raised her before she became Heda.” He stands and Clarke follows suit. He offers her a kind nod. “Thank you for all your help, Dr. Griffin.” 

“Anytime, officer.” Clarke smiles as they exit the ready-room together and Officer Lincoln makes his way over to where Raven is brushing her hands off on her black coveralls with yellow piping. LtCR. T’Al is inspecting the communications console. 

“Everyone is ship-shape, Commander,” Clarke announces as she stands next to where the Commander has sat down in her chair. Lexa looks over at her and nods gratefully.

“Lieutenant Blake rushed out of here quite quickly,” Lexa remarks. “Hopefully it wasn’t your bedside manner that caused her to flee the scene so swiftly.” Lexa isn’t smiling, but her voice betrays the humour in her tone. 

“Don’t worry, Commander, my bedside manner is one of my best qualities,” Clarke replies, her lips tugging up into a smile. 

“I can imagine.” 

LtCR. T’Al appears in front of them, and if Clarke didn’t know any better, she would think that the LtCR. looked almost annoyed. 

“Lieutenant Reyes is quite skilled,” the Vulcan says as if it pains her to do so, “she has managed to repair the communications console and she claims that it has been improved.” Raven comes to stand next to the Vulcan and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I don’t claim, I _know_ that I improved it,” Raven argues. “This isn’t my first rodeo."

LtCR. T’Al lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t see what the ancient human horse riding ritual has to do with your repairing the console.”

“It’s an expression, T’Al,” Raven sighs. “I forgot how literal you Vulcans can be.” 

Before LtCR. T’Al can reply, Lexa raises her hand. The two arguing officers quiet and look to the Commander. 

“That will be all, Lieutenant Reyes,” Lexa dismisses the engineer. Raven nods and walks away to the turbo lift, probably to head back to engineering.

“Commander, if that’s all you need from me, I’m going to head down to sickbay. I’ve got a whole day of appointments ahead of me.” Clarke waits for Lexa to nod, and then she walks to the turbo lift. There is nothing appealing about running physical exams for over one hundred officers, but since there aren’t any nurses or medical staff available to her, it’s up to Clarke. And to think that she thought being a doctor would be the least tedious job on a station.

 

* * *

 

The first week on _Polis_ goes by in a haze of appointments and minor injuries. Officers come in for their physicals and often find their way back with some sort of ailment that needs attention. The most excitement is when there are altercations between officers, calling in the intimidating head of security, a Klingon woman named Indra, to break up small fights during dinner. Clarke isn’t surprised that the older crew is having trouble accepting the new officers. Many of the officers that Starfleet chose to send are young and inexperienced, the most disposable personnel. They don’t have families to get home to, and they’re all eager to be part of the fleet’s frontier. 

The original crew are hardened and worn down, ready to perform their duties but not full of the enthusiasm that the new officers bring with them. Clarke can’t deny that she feels that same enthusiasm. Even if the week was full of tedious physicals and treating minor injuries, she feels an undeniable pride every time she steps into sickbay - her own sickbay, where she is in charge and controls what goes on. 

As she is cleaning up after her final physical appointment, the comm system sounds.

“ _Commander to Dr. Griffin._ ”

Clarke taps her comm badge and answers with a smile on her face. “This is Clarke, go ahead Commander.”

“ _I was hoping you would join me in my quarters for dinner this evening, Clarke. Around 1900 hours._ ”

“It would be my pleasure, Lexa.” Clarke checks the time display on her desk. “I’ll see you in a half hour.”

“ _Thank you, Clarke. I will see you shortly._ ” The comm system cuts off, and Clarke is left wondering if it’s appropriate to bring wine to your commanding officer. 

* * *

 

 

_“Ensign Griffin, do you mind explaining to me why you have shown up to duty not only twenty minutes late, but also in improper uniform?”_

_Clarke swallows nervously and hates how the eyes of everyone on the bridge are now on her and Captain Kane. “I’m afraid I got detained, sir.”_

_Kane nods slowly and clasps his hands behind his back. “And if I were to call Junior Lieutenant Collins to the bridge and ask him what time he reported to duty this morning, would I also find that he was…detained?” A few snickers sound from around the bridge, which are quickly quieted by a look from the captain._

_“You may, sir,” Clarke says evasively._

_Kane regards her with a careful eye. Clarke braces herself for the reprimand that she can feel building, and squares her shoulders. Kane sighs and shakes his head. “Fix your uniform, ensign, and take over at the helm.”_

_Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise and she quickly goes over to the helm, relieving the current helmsman._

_“Steady as she goes, Ensign Griffin,” Kane commands as he sits down in the command chair._

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s quarters are not what Clarke expects. She isn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the candle-lit room with a plant on every surface, the stacks of books along the wall shelves, the small kitchenette, and the large furry dog that was currently resting on the couch. She also hadn’t been expecting the hand-cooked meal that Lexa had explained to be her interpretation of Vulcan Plomeek Soup served with Terellian pheasant. It had been delicious, and the conversation had been pleasant but shallow, but the bottle of Risian wine Clarke had decided to bring last minute is finally doing its job, and both officers have loosened their jackets and relaxed back into their chairs. 

“I have to ask,” Clarke says, folding up her napkin and placing it on the table, “how did you managed to convince Starfleet Command to allow you to bring your dog to _Polis_?”

Lexa looked over at the heap of fur on the couch and smiled softly. “It was surprisingly easy. He is a service dog, a medical necessity, as well as a fantastic security measure.” The dog wags his tail, as if knowing they’re talking about him. “I usually allow him to accompany me while I am on duty, but I thought I would give the new crew time to settle before introducing them to Gustus. Many officers find it unsettling to serve next to a large animal, although I have never understood their trepidation.” 

“Is he named for someone in particular?” Clarke asks, pouring herself more wine. 

“On Qo’noS, the Klingon home world, Gustus was my first instructor,” Lexa explains. “When I became joined, he became one of my closest advisors and friends. He was a fierce warrior and a loyal man.” 

That’s another thing Clarke has learned about Lexa over dinner. She speaks concisely, and doesn’t waste her words. Her voice is soft but commands attention, and every syllable is carefully pronounced like she worries that she’ll trip over them if she speaks too quickly. 

“How did he die?” Clarke dares to ask. 

Lexa looks at her and all traces of the smile are gone. “He committed high-treason against the Empire.” She takes a sip of wine, and Clarke can tell that this facet of conversation has run its course. 

“When I was young I lived on a galaxy class starship,” Clarke says, “and my friend Wells had this pet driclae named Hemingway - you know, one of those strange Romulan anteaters. One day, when we were about eight years old, Hemingway managed to escape from Wells’ quarters and made his way to the bridge. Somehow, that ridiculous creature managed to get into the Jefferies tubes and fell from the ceiling right onto the captain’s lap.” Clarke laughs and shakes her head fondly at the memory. “Wells’ father was the captain, thankfully, but I’ll never forget the look on his face when we reported to the bridge and he handed us this driclae and explained to us that apparently, the helmsman had tried to sneak a Romulan plum to his post and Hemingway had smelled it from ten decks down and made it his life’s mission to get that plum. I don’t think that helmsman has ever forgotten it, either.” Lexa is smiling and Clarke has to take another drink of wine at the feeling of her heartbeat speeding up. 

“Did your friend get to keep his pet?” She asks, matching Clarke’s sip with her own.

“About a week later the ship was attacked by a rogue Romulan vessel,” Clarke says. “The stupid animal had managed to escaped and was wandering through the Jefferies tubes when a photon torpedo struck the hull and caused a massive breach. Hemingway was one of three casualties that day.” 

Lexa hides her smile behind her wine glass and Clarke grins back. Clearing her throat, Lexa stands and begins gathering the dishes. Clarke stands to help but Lexa stops her. “Please, Clarke, you are my guest. Allow me.” 

Clarke picks up her plate anyways. “My mother would have me court-martialled if she heard I wasn’t clearing my own plate,” she says with a wink. “And besides, it’s not like stacking dishes in the replicator is anywhere near the hardest part of the evening.” She follows Lexa to the replicator and puts her plates on top of Lexa’s. A quick push of a button causes the dishes to dematerialize. Lexa gestures to the couch and Clarke moves over to sit down, grabbing her wine on the way. Lexa follows suit, and commands Gustus down off the couch, “Gustus, _tlnwl’_.”

They sit at opposite ends of the couch, sipping their wine slowly. Clarke can feel her toes tingling with the effects of the wine she’s already had, and it brings a pleasant warmth to her cheeks. 

“Are your parents Starfleet officers?” Lexa asks, running her spare hand through Gustus’ fur.

Clarke nods. “My mother was a doctor, her last posting was onboard the _USS Enterprise_ until just last year, when she retired from active duty and became a teacher at the Academy on Earth,” she tells Lexa. “My father was Chief Engineer for the _USS_ _Arkadia_. He died a few years ago, a malfunction with the airlocks.” Clarke looks down into her glass, her fingers tightening around the stem. She looks up quickly when she feels a hand touch her knee. Lexa is looking at her, and Clarke is hesitant to meet her eyes, knowing what she’ll find there - pity, a useless and patronizing emotion that everyone shows her when they find out about her father. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says her name so gently that she meet her eyes almost reflexively. “I know the pain of losing someone you love. I am sorry that you had to endure it.” There isn’t any pity in her voice or her eyes, but instead a reflection of what Clarke sees in her own eyes every time she looks in the mirror: pain and regret, and maybe just a touch of loneliness. 

Clarke clears her throat and Lexa abruptly removes her hand. The lighting is dim, but Clarke swears she can see a slight flush in the Commander’s cheeks. Again Clarke is struck by how regal she looks, like a ruler of ancient Earth in the archived portraits that her father used to show her. The candles that are placed around the room cast her in a dim orange light, giving her an otherworldly glow. Clarke quickly looks away, unwilling to be caught staring at Lexa again. 

“You’re a joined Trill, right?” Clarke breaks the silence, her voice sounding too loud and out of place. 

“I am,” Lexa says. “I became joined with the Heda symbiont when I was seventeen years old.” Clarke raises her eyebrows, impressed. To her knowledge, most Trills don’t get selected for joining until their mid-twenties. Lexa must notice her surprise, and she continues to explain, “The Heda symbiont is one of the most revered and sought-after symbionts in our culture. Many cultures have come to realize the importance of Heda. A successor is chosen from a group of Trill who have been educated and trained from a very young age.” 

“But you said you were raised by Klingons,” Clarke recalls, “wouldn’t the Symbiosis Commission want to keep such an important task on Trill?” 

“Every child selected for this symbiont is raised off world,” Lexa explains. “I showed promise at a very young age and was removed from my family. The Commission placed me with a Klingon family. They did nothing more than provide me with a bed, food, and a Klingon name. I was trained and taught by Gustus. When I turned twelve I was relocated to Vulcan, where I attended the academy and was trained in their ways by Anya - Lieutenant Commander T’Al. I also completed my Starfleet education while on Vulcan.” Lexa pauses to gently scratch behind her dog’s ears. “I was en route to my first posting when the previous host suddenly fell ill with Cartalian fever and died. I had been identified as the top choice for the Heda symbiont a year earlier, and when I finally rendezvoused with my assigned ship, I was no longer just Lexa Wulfrek. I was Heda.” 

“Do you know your Trill family?” Clarke asks softly. Lexa blinks at her in surprise, then regards her with a curious look. 

“I have never thought about trying to find them,” the Commander admits, “it never seemed important. I was removed from my family when I was very young, too young to remember them.” Her eyebrows pull together, and she looks down at Gustus who is now resting his head on her feet. “No one has ever asked me that question before.” Her gaze shifts back to Clarke. “You are…unique, Dr. Clarke Griffin.” 

Clarke feels blood rush to her cheeks, and suddenly the room is too small and the lighting is too dim. She stands quickly and puts her wine glass down on the coffee table. 

“I should get going,” Clarke says, folding her hands in front of her. “Thank you for the food, and the conversation.” Lexa stands and nods curtly, walking Clarke to the door. 

“It was my pleasure, Clarke,” she says. “I hope we can do this again soon.” 

There’s a softness to Lexa’s eyes, and an openness to the way she is standing, hands at her side and head tilted down to meet Clarke’s eyes, and it all makes Clarke think that maybe the lightheadedness she is feeling can’t be completely blamed on the wine. 

“Goodnight, Commander,” Clarke says as the doors open and she steps out into the corridor. 

Lexa tilts her head in a parting gesture. “Rest well, doctor.” 

 

* * *

 

_Personal log, stardate 61847.9. Dinner with Clarke was a welcome break from the busy week that just passed. The stress of integrating a new crew with the old crew has been causing the voices of Heda’s past hosts to become louder and more insistent. They speak nonsense, warning me of nonexistent threats. However, I find it increasingly difficult to cast these warnings off as unimportant. If they continue, I may have to contact Titus…I hope it does not come to that._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of uneasy about this chapter. Conversations are hard for me to write, but I hope I did alright. Thank you everyone for your really encouraging and lovely comments on the first chapter, I appreciate it more than you can imagine! And a huge thank you to everyone who left kudos as well :)


	3. Stardates 61854.4 - 61857.8

_First Officer’s log, stardate 61854.4. The Commander, Lieutenant Commander Reyes and I have been requested to rendezvous with a Vulcan research vessel that lost power to its impulse engines after attempting to run a close proximity scan on an isolated nebula approximately twenty light years from the station. It is unlike the Commander to insist upon coming on an away mission of such little political importance. I suspect there is a motive behind her actions that I am not privy to. While we are away, she has assigned Dr. Griffin to be in charge of the station. I advised against this, but the Commander insists that the doctor is the most qualified officer for this job. We should return within the day, either to a well-run station…or a zoo._

 

* * *

Clarke is angry. She is angry, she is pissed, and she is frustrated. She is a _doctor_ , not a command officer _._ Her skills no longer include tactical operations, or organizing personnel, or running day-to-day operations onboard a starship or a station. 

And it’s just her luck that the day Lexa randomly decides to leave Clarke in charge is the same day that a full on brawl breaks out in the mess hall. It seems that the crew’s cooperation is reliant on Lexa’s presence on the station. 

So Clarke finds herself not in sickbay, or enjoying her lunch, or even taking a relaxing woodland walk through a holodeck program, but standing in front of five officers in the security office. Beside her is the chief of security Indra. She is a fierce looking woman, and it’s not just because she’s a Klingon. Indra radiates authority, and every time she looks at Clarke, the doctor feels her eyes burning a hole through her head. And from what Clarke hears, Indra is fiercely loyal to Lexa and the original crew of _Polis_. Indra is not a Starfleet officer, and her position as Chief of security is rumoured to double as a Klingon agent within the Starfleet station. Regardless of her allegiance to governing bodies, Clarke is sure that her loyalty to Lexa wins out. The commander has that effect on people.

“Will one of you please explain to me what happened?” Clarke demands, pacing in front of the guilty parties. 

Indra speaks up before any of the accused can. “I was called to the mess hall and came upon these five officers brawling like _puq,_ ” she spits. “Apparently there was a disagreement over seating arrangements.” 

Clarke laughs in disbelief. “Seating arrangements?” She looks at the only officer she recognizes and raises her eyebrows. “Officer Murphy. Explain.” The sullen officer looks up from his feet and meets Clarke’s eyes with a distaste that is surely reflected in her face as well. The rank on his collar identifies him as a junior lieutenant, and the red of his shirt indicates him as command. At least superficially, this should make him the most likely to respond to her authority. 

“I don’t have to answer to a medic,” Murphy drawls. 

Or maybe he’s not at all likely to respond to her authority because he’s a _dick_. 

“Junior Lieutenant John Murphy,” Clarke begins in a low voice, “I am acting commander of this station and your superior officer. Look at the rank on my uniform. I am a _Lieutenant Commander_. I am not only in charge of you on this station, but in any situation where Starfleet hierarchy applies. Lucky for me, this situation is both on _my_ station and part of _Starfleet’s administration_. So you will answer my questions, and you will explain why you were found brawling in the mess hall with four other officers under my command before I write you up for insubordination!” Clarke is almost yelling by the time she finishes, and she’s gotten far closer to Murphy than she has ever wanted to be in her life. She does gain satisfaction, however, from the fact that Murphy now looks like he’s about to wet himself.

“I sat down at a table with Ensign Jones and those three assholes came over, insisting it was _their_ table,” Murphy says, and Clarke can see the effort it’s taking for him to keep his voice even. “I told them that they’re full of shit and no one owns any tables. They set their food down and stood there, waiting for us to move. So Jones told them to get lost and they laughed in his face. It’s all a bit blurry after that.” Murphy’s eyes flit from side to side, and Clarke knows that’s all she will get out of him.

“Do any of you have a less blurry idea of what happened?” Clarke asks. A female ensign steps forward and throws Murphy a dirty look. “Go ahead, ensign.” 

“When we asked them to move a second time, Officer Murphy knocked our food to the ground,” the ensign explains. “We then retaliated. Those two _boys_ were hardly a match for us.” She smirks at Murphy and Jones as she steps back into line.

Clarke sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “All five of you will be confined to quarters until further notice. Dismissed.” The officers file out of the security office and Clarke looks over at Indra to be met by a disapproving glare. “Is there a problem?” Clarke asks.

“You did not give them any repurcussions for their actions,” Indra says, “and it makes you appear weak.” She looks Clarke up and down distastefully. “Unless your lack of strength is not a mask, and you really are weak. I told Heda that putting you in charge of the station in her absence was a mistake.” She turns away from Clarke and sits behind her desk. 

Clarke ignores the Klingon’s words, and leaves the office. She’s had enough conflict for one day. She just wants to get back to sickbay and read her medical journals, maybe heal a sprained ankle or two. But as she makes her way down the boardwalk to sickbay, she is interrupted by the comm system. 

“ _Lieutenant Blake to Dr. Griffin_.”

Clarke nearly stomps her foot in frustration. She taps her comm badge. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“ _We’re getting a transmission up in OPs. I think you should come take a look._ ” 

Clarke sighs. “Can you patch it through to sickbay?” 

“ _I really think you should come up here, Clarke._ ” 

“Fine. I’m on my way.” Clarke ends the communication and redirects herself to the turbo lift. She steps in and directs it to OPs. “Stupid Octavia and following stupid protocol,” she mutters under her breath, “stupid commander for putting me in charge. I’m a doctor, not a commander or a captain or anyone who should be put in charge of running a stupid space station out in the middle of freakin’ nowhere.” The lift doors open and Clarke makes her way over to the communications console where Octavia is sitting and taps the Lieutenant on the shoulder. Octavia spins her seat around and faces Clarke with a look far more serious than she’s used to seeing on the young Bajoran’s face. 

“What’s so important that I had to come all the way up here?” Clarke asks. “And why is your face like that?” 

“Take a look for yourself,” Octavia says and stands, allowing Clarke to take her seat. Clarke hits the playback button and the blurred image of an alien flickers in front of her. 

“ _This is Roan of the Azgeda people. I request asylum on your station. My life is in danger. Please respond._ ” The message plays on a loop and Clarke watches it over and over again. The image is blurred but the alien looks humanoid. The voice is deep and sounds frantic, the timbre raspy. 

Clarke finally ends the transmission and stands. She looks at the empty command chair and sighs. No one else can or will sit there, so she walks over and sits down hesitantly. Her hands grip the arms of the chair, and Clarke takes a deep breath. 

“Alright,” she says, making sure her voice is as clear and commanding she can make it, “TAC, run a system scan for any ships, on multiple frequencies. Comm, send out a reply. Do not confirm or deny asylum, only acknowledge their hail. TAC, raise shields as a precaution.” Clarke settles into the chair, taking slow breaths to try and calm her heart rate. Her palms are sweaty, and as she waits for replies from her officers. 

“We’ve detected a small ship, twenty lightyears away,” the tactical officer speaks up. “I’m reading one life form. The ship appears to have taken heavy damage, and only one of its thrusters is working.” 

“How far can our tractor beam reach?” Clarke asks.

“About a quarter of that distance.” 

Clarke leans forward, elbows on her thighs. “Lieutenant Blake, get me Major Blake on the comm.”

“You’re patched through.”

“Major Blake, this is Acting Commander Griffin,” Clarke says, “I need you to take a runabout and one other officer and rendezvous with a ship in distress. OPs will send you the coordinates when you reach your runabout.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Bellamy replies. The communication ends, and Clarke is grateful for the simplicity that Bellamy has always brought to the job. He follows orders without question, and she knows that she will be able to count on him to do the job quickly and properly. 

“Now what?” Octavia asks as OPs falls into relative silence. 

“Now we wait,” Clarke answers. 

 

* * *

 

Bellamy returns with the alien much more quickly than Clarke was expecting. The request is made for a direct beam to sickbay, so Clarke hurries down and is met with Bellamy and a very beat up humanoid materializing near a bed. She rushes to the alien’s other side and helps Bellamy carefully set him down on the nearest bed. 

“I think he’s suffered plasma burns, radiation, and I am assuming that he inhaled lot of smoke,” Bellamy reports as Clarke grabs her medical tricorder and scans the alien. 

“Okay, I’m going to start with airway,” Clarke says, more to herself than to Bellamy. She grabs a respirator and gets Bellamy to hold it over the alien’s mouth. The respirator scans the frequency and depth of the breaths the alien is taking. They appear to be regular and reasonably paced for a human, but this alien’s respiratory cycle could be very different. “We need to get a full body scan, I need to learn more about this alien’s anatomy.” Clarke accessed the full body scanner and an image of the alien’s anatomy appeared on the screen behind the bed. Their lungs were below their stomach and their heart’s placement was similar to a Vulcan’s, but Clarke wasn’t familiar with the shapes of this anatomy and what would indicate healthy organs or damaged ones. 

“What’s the problem, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, peering over her shoulder at the scans. Clarke rolls her eyes at him, knowing full-well that he can’t read a medical scan.   


“I can’t make sense of any of this anatomy right now,” Clarke explains. “I’ll put him in stasis and run more tests.” Clarke goes back over to the alien and energizes the stasis field. “He seems stable enough but the fact that he’s unconscious means something isn’t right.” She flops down onto her desk chair and leans her head back to stare up at the blank ceiling. 

“Not an easy day to be in charge,” Bellamy comments. He replicates a cup of Bajoran jumja tea and hands it to Clarke. She smiles in thanks and takes a sip. 

“If anything else comes up today, I’m just going to take this alien into surgery and have at it so someone else can take over,” she grumbles. Bellamy laughs and pats her on the shoulder. 

“You’re a natural leader, Clarke,” he says, “whether you like it or not. I was in OPs when you took the chair and ordered everyone around. It was good to see you back where you belong.” 

“I wish you’d stop,” Clarke says with a frown. “I’m not a command officer, I never should have been put in charge. I don’t know what the Commander was thinking.” She drinks her tea as Bellamy pulls up a spare chair and sits across the desk from her. 

“I think she saw what we all see in you,” he says. “I think she wanted to test you. And I think she made the right choice, choosing you. You may be a doctor now, but there was a time before you got all excited about sticking your hands all over and all up in people.” His eyes twinkle at his double-entendre, and Clarke can’t help but smile into her mug. 

“Pretty sure I always enjoyed that, thanks Bell,” she scoffs at him. Bellamy laughs and nods, tapping his hands on the desk. 

“Don’t remind me,” he chuckles. “I can’t count the number of times I walked in on you and Finn when we were all aboard _Arkadia_. I’m pretty sure Captain Kane used to send me to find the two of you on purpose.” 

Clarke laughs. “Because of that time he walked in on you and that Betazoid girl while we were _supposed_ to be on shore leave.” 

“He was _also_ supposed to be on shore leave!” Bellamy tries to defend himself, but they’re both laughing too much to continue the discussion. 

 

* * *

 

_Personal log, stardate 60678.7. I’ve just reached my new assignment on board the_ USS Arkadia _. I’ve met a few crew members, all of whom have been very welcoming. One of them, another ensign named Finn Collins, was especially helpful. He showed me the mess hall, the holodecks, and the fitness room. I’m not sure how often the latter is going to be used, but it was nice of him to think of it. He offered to show me a few of the ship’s holodeck programs but I’m here to perform my duties, not get distracted by a boy, no matter how charming and handsome he is. I need to settle in and get used to serving on a Galaxy class starship. I’ve already gotten lost just trying to find my quarters._

 

* * *

When the Commander and the rest of the away team returns, Clarke feels a giant weight lift off her shoulders. She welcomes them at the docking bay, and Clarke hands Lexa a tablet with the activity report. LtCR. T’Al leads the rescued Vulcans away and Raven puts a hand on Clarke’s arm as she walks by, pausing to comment on the journey under her breath.   


“It was almost entirely silent the whole way there and back, Clarke,” she whispers with disbelief. “I was too intimidated to say anything but I think I need to go scream from some mountain tops before I forget how to speak forever.” Clarke smiles and swallows a laugh. 

“Dr. Griffin, brief me on the way to OPs,” the Commander requests. 

“Actually, I think you should make sickbay your first stop,” Clarke interjects. “An alien life form requested asylum and when they arrived, I had to place them in stasis to try and allow their body time to heal. I’m also not really sure if there’a anything wrong or how to fix it if there is. I’ve never encountered this species before.” 

Lexa nods and gestures her hand to the doorway. “Lead the way, Clarke.” 

As they walk to sickbay, Clarke continues to brief the Commander. “I had to refine five officers to quarters for fighting in the mess. I think the some of the new crew members are having trouble adjusting to the way the old crew likes things.” 

“Do you have any suggestions?” Lexa asks as they turn a corner and wait for the turbo lift. 

“A lot of the new crew are young,” Clarke begins as they step into the lift. “For most of them, this is their first or second assignment outside the Alpha quadrant or even just in their careers. I think they’re just unsettled. And maybe there needs to be somewhere else the crew can go to unwind aside from the communal mess hall.” Clarke looks at the rank on Lexa’s uniform. “Somewhere where…where rank maybe doesn’t matter as much, where everyone can just be, without all the drama of trying to blend crews.” 

Lexa hits a button and stops the turbo lift. She turns to Clarke and meets her eyes carefully. “Rank is what allows a ship, a station, a _society_ to function. Without rank, there would be instability and disorder. You cannot remove rank from a hierarchical system and expect it to work.” 

“I’m not saying that we should eliminate rank altogether, just that maybe there is a sense of superiority among the first crew.” Clarke folds her arms across her chest defensively. 

“And what gives you that idea?”

Clarke flits her eyes to the side for a moment before meeting Lexa’s again. “There was a…an incident of sorts today. With Indra. It’s not a big deal, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, but she was bordering on insubordinate.” Lexa raises an eyebrow, and Clarke sighs before continuing. “She disagreed with me about refining the brawling officers to quarters and waiting for you to deal out punitive measures.” 

“Indra is loyal to me before anyone else,” Lexa says, “but she is also a Klingon. She cannot help her nature.” Clarke snorts ungracefully and shakes her head. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with her being a _Klingon_ , Lexa,” she argues, “it has to do with the fact that she felt like she could speak to her commanding officer disrespectfully. I think a lot of the old crew feel like they hold seniority over the new crew, regardless of rank because they don’t respect them, and they don’t know each other.” 

“They are officers, they shouldn’t need to know each other to work together,” Lexa counters. 

Clarke sighs. “You can’t expect people to get along with each other and work without conflict when they haven’t taken any time to learn anything about each other.” 

Lexa regards her with her head tilted slightly, and Clarke isn’t sure what the Commander is going to do next. Clarke feels scrutinized and judged, but it doesn’t feel malicious or hostile, just…curious. 

“You know, some people might say that _you_ are being insubordinate, doctor,” Lexa says, her lips tugging up into a small smile. Clarke smirks a little and shakes her head.

“Just be glad I let you have command of the station back,” she jokes, “I was really starting to enjoy being in charge of everyone.” 

Lexa’s eyes lose some of their humour. “That is a shame, Clarke. You have done well.” 

The air feels a bit too serious now and Clarke clears her throat and looks away. “It was a pretty routine day,” she tries to bat away Lexa’s praise. “I’m just glad the place didn’t blow up.” 

Lexa lets out small laugh, “Yes, I think Starfleet might have had something to say about you blowing up the station in your first month of duty.” Clarke rolls her eyes and Lexa resumes the turbo lift. They exit onto the boardwalk and make their way to sickbay. As they get closer, Clarke hears the telltale sound of a fight coming from the direction of sickbay. She looks over at Lexa, making brief eye contact before they start running towards the sounds. 

Sickbay was a mess. Instruments were on the floor, one of the display screens had been smashed, and there are three officers trying to subdue the alien. Lexa rushes over and joined the fight, while Clarke quickly finds a hypospray and fills it with anaesthetic. She turns and watches as Lexa grabs the back of the alien’s neck and they drop to the ground, Lexa standing triumphantly over them.

“You know the Vulcan neck pinch?” Clarke asks, impressed. She crouches down and presses the hypospray to the alien’s neck. 

“I was trained on Vulcan,” Lexa reminds her, “of course I know it.” She regards the three security officers. “Thank you. Officer Lincoln, please inform Indra that we will require constant security in sickbay until further notice.” 

“Yes, Heda,” Lincoln nods. He acknowledges Clarke with a nod as he passes by her on his way out of sickbay. 

“Artigas, Quint, move the alien back onto the bed,” Lexa orders. The remaining security officers heave the alien up onto the bed, and Clarke re-erects the stasis field. “Stand back please, Dr. Griffin.” Clarke moves and stands beside Lexa. “Computer, erect a level two security forcefield around medical bed three.” The forcefield buzzes into life. Lexa turns to the security officers and clasps her hands behind her back. “If this alien should escape and harm any one of my officers, I will be holding the security officers present responsible. Your sole duty is to make sure he does not escape sickbay. Phasers should be set to stun. Shoot to disable only, and if I find out that _any_ unnecessary force has been used, you will be appropriately disciplined.” 

“Yes, Heda,” the officers reply in unison. 

Lexa turns to Clarke and gestures for her to follow her over to the desk. Clarke suddenly feels self-conscious about the mess, even if most of it isn’t of her own making, and she starts trying to straighten up the supplies that are strewn about the desk top. 

“I swear it isn’t usually this messy,” Clarke tries to deflect, “most days we don’t have aliens charging around beating up officers and throwing my medical equipment everywhere.” 

“Are you going to be alright?” Lexa asks her, and Clarke thinks she must be imagining the cancer that lines the Commander’s brow. “Obviously this is an aggressive life form. If you would like more security personnel, or perhaps some other officers who can be assigned as medical assistants, I will make the arrangements.” 

Clarke wishes she could feel flattered by Lexa’s concern, but part of her, an irrational and over-tired part of her, feels mildly insulted. “I can handle myself, thanks. Maybe you should go focus on doing _your_ job of running the station, and I’ll focus on _my_ job of running sickbay.” Lexa’s brow smooths out and her eyes look past Clarke, fixating on the wall. 

“Of course, doctor,” Lexa says, giving Clarke a short nod. “Be sure to contact either Lieutenant Commander T’Al or myself if the alien awakes.” Lexa turns and strides out of sickbay, and Clarke grips the back of her chair, shaking her head. 

“Way to go, Griffin.”

 

* * *

“Come on, Clarke, this is just embarrassing for you!” 

Clarke bends over and gasps for air, hands on her knees. She shakes her head and wipes the sweat off her forehead. “You’re insane, Octavia,” she heaves, “honestly insane. How are you not dead right now? It’s a million degrees in here, and you haven’t even stopped for water.”

Octavia laughs and jogs back to where Clarke is trying to catch her breath. She rubs her back gently and squeezes her shoulder. “Computer, lower temperature by ten degrees and start a cool breeze blowing five kilometres from the east.” Immediately the environment changes and Clarke feels some relief as everything around her cools down. Octavia hands her a water bottle and leads her over to a rock. They sit down together and Clarke leans her head on Octavia’s shoulder. 

“So, how’s the alien doing?” Octavia asks as Clarke chugs back the water. “It’s been a few days, has he woken up again?”

“First of all, you don’t know anything about this species’ gender system or whether or not they have it, so just stick to ‘they’,” Clarke corrects her friend, who immediately looks a little sheepish. “But no, the alien hasn’t woken up since that first incident. I think it has to do with the frequency of the stasis field, but Monty - Lieutenant Green - was actually really helpful with analyzing the alien’s brainwave patterns and helping me develop the right frequency.” Octavia took the water from her and took a sip as Clarke continued talking, not noticing the bored look on her friend’s face. “There’s still so much I don’t understand about their physiology and body chemistry. I know it’s unethical but I really want to run more extensive tests, I don’t know what they’ll be open to once they’re fully conscious.” She stops and cocks her head to the side. “Okay that sounds really, really bad.” 

Octavia snorts and bumps her shoulder into Clarke’s. “You’re such a creepy scientist.” She stands up and holds out a hand to Clarke. “Enough of your nerdy doctor talk. You agree to this run with me and we are going to finish it, even if it kills you. Ever since you became a medical officer, you’ve been getting more and more out of shape.” Clarke scoffs at her, but takes her hand anyways and lets the Bajoran pull her onto her feet. 

“If I’d known your version of ‘let’s go for a morning run in the holodeck’ was actually ‘let’s go sprinting through the Rocky Mountains and _die_ ’ then maybe I wouldn’t have agreed to this,” Clarke groans as they start jogging along the trail again. “Next time, I’m going to choose the morning activity we do and it’s going to called _coffee while sitting down_!” She calls after Octavia as the Bajoran sprints down the trail, leaving Clarke in her dust. Just as Clarke is getting ready to try and pick up her pace against all her better instincts, the comm system beeps to life. 

“ _Officer Monroe to Dr. Griffin_.”

Clarke almost sobs in relief as she stops running. “Go ahead.” 

“ _The alien in sickbay has regained consciousness, are you able to come down to sickbay_?”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible. Griffin out.” Clarke weakly fist pumps into the air, still trying to catch her breath. “Computer, exit.” A door shimmers into existence before her, and she walks through it onto the upper level of the boardwalk. She stops by a replicator to grab a cold bottle of water and walks quickly along the boardwalk, and down the stairs. She gets a cramp as she tries to speed walk from the bottom of the stairs to sickbay. She sort of hop-walks into sickbay, clutching her side and drinking water steadily. 

Officer Monroe meets her at the door and looks her up and down. “Did we interrupt something, Dr. Griffin?” Clarke looks down at her outfit of exercise clothes and can only imagine how bedraggled and gross she must look. 

“Trust me, officer, you interrupted me at just the right time,” Clarke assures her. “Now, let’s get down to business.” She walks over to the bed and is met with the alien standing on their feet and staring down the other security officer. Clarke excuses the officer and smiles at the alien.

“Good morning,” she says, pushing the escaped and sweaty strands of hair off the sides of her face, “my name is Dr. Clarke Griffin, and you’re on the Starfleet space station Deep Space 12. Do you remember how you got here, or what happened before you did?” 

“My name is Roan, of the Azgeda,” the alien answers in a gruff voice. “I am the prince of my people. My mother chased me from my planet and I barely managed to escape her ships when I was caught in an ionic space anomaly. It must have pulled my ship towards your station. I sent out a general distress call and your station must have been the first to receive it.” 

“Would it be alright with you if I ran a few examinations?” Clarke asks. “Last time you woke up you sort of attacked everyone in sight, so we put up a forcefield. But if you’re not going to do that, then I can lower this and just make sure you’re healthy.” Roan looks her up and down, and Clarke takes a step back.

“Don’t worry doctor, I’ll refrain from attacking anyone else for now,” he says with a wry grin. Clarke laughs and lowers the forcefield. 

“Someone contact the Commander or First Officer T’Al,” Clarke remembers to instruct the officers as she scans Roan with her tricorder. “Let them know our guest is awake.” 

 

* * *

_Chief Engineer’s log, stardate 61857.8. I’ve spent three days working on the Vulcan ship we rescued. It would be easier and much faster to complete the repairs if the Vulcans weren’t standing over me very second I’m working on them, but apparently they don’t trust humans to do a good job with technology. If I hear one more lousy Vulcan try to tell me I’m doing these repairs in an ‘illogical’ order, I’m going to put them in an illogical order. First Officer T’Al has also been hanging around - apparently she knows some of these vulcans from the good old days back on the home world. She’s probably the most annoying of them all because apparently she trusts me even less than the other Vulcans do; maybe it’s because I smile and sometimes I enjoy a good witty remark. God, I miss the days I spent working on repairing a Klingon warbird - there was bloodline flowing at all hours of the day, and they loved a good old-fashioned explosion. All I can hope for is that these repairs get done and the Vulcans get gone as soon as possible._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voilà! I hope that was good, I've been writing it while trying to deal with exam season and it's been a little rough, so I hope this came out alright. I wanted to get something out for you guys as soon as I could, let me know what you think! Every comment and every kudos honestly means so much to me, thank you all so so much for your support :) if you have any questions or any ideas that you might want to see in this story, let me know! Thank you again for reading :)


	4. Stardate 61857.5

_Commander’s log, stardate 61857.5. This morning has been spent talking with our latest alien guest, Roan of the Azgeda people. The Azgeda are not a race that I’ve encountered before, and I am finding Roan’s company to be taxing. He speaks in riddles and refuses to give me a straight answer about the circumstances surrounding his arrival on_ Polis. _All that I have gathered so far is that his mother has banished him for some reason that he claims to not be privy to, and that there are most likely ships that will be looking for him, and may soon arrive onboard my station. If all the Azgeda are as evasive as Roan, I will be in for many long days of negotiations. The only solace I have been granted is the departure of the Vulcan scientists, which frees up my chief engineer to resume her duty of repairing my station, hopefully starting with the environmental controls. The station has been exceptionally warm for almost an entire day, and Starfleet uniforms do not lend themselves to a warm climate._

* * *

 

Lexa is not having a good day. Roan is one of the most frustrating life-forms that she has had the misfortune of encountering in her entire Starfleet career. She spent the entire morning trying to get details from him, and after almost four hours of attempted negotiations, she’s given up and sent him back to his guest quarters. As soon as the conference room doors slide shut, Lexa collapses ungracefully into the head chair and swivels to look out the windows. She rests her chin in her hand, leaning on the armrest and trying to put some sort of picture together from the few details she was able to gain from her discussion with Roan. 

Exiled by his mother, who is the queen of a seemingly warlike race, Roan showed very little signs of distress aside from the minor injuries he sustained in the initial incident that brought him to _Polis_. Lexa is no expert on familial relations, but somehow she thinks that being exiled by one’s mother might be slightly demoralising. He was stoic but not dismissive, personable but not friendly, able to remain neutral in the face of almost all of Lexa’s questions. It was infuriating.

“ _Lieutenant Blake to the Commander,_ ” the comm system crackles to life. 

Lexa sighs and straightens up in her seat. “Go ahead Lieutenant.”

“ _You’re receiving a transmission from Amdmiral Kane at Starfleet Command._ ” 

“Patch it through to the conference room,” Lexa instructs, and the holo-screen flickers to life in front of her. Lexa arranges her features into diplomatic impassivity and inclines her head in greeting at the man on the screen in front of her. “Admiral Kane.”

“Good afternoon, Commander,” Kane greets her with his usual kind smile, “I received your First Officer’s subspace transmission about your newest guest.” 

Lexa nods, “I’m glad it went through. All of our systems have been…fluctuating, as usual.” 

Kane chuckles softly in solidarity and Lexa allows herself a small smile. Kane is perfectly suited to his position. He’s charming and puts people at ease. His time as a commanding officer and ship’s captain make him sympathetic to his officers’ grievances, and his experience in the field makes him irreplaceable to the tactical planning at Starfleet Headquarters. 

“Now, unfortunately I won’t be able to make it out to your station to meet this alien myself,” Kane says, “but I will be sending a diplomatic envoy out as soon a possible.” 

“If I may, sir,” Lexa speaks clearly and hides her discomfort as best she can, “I do not think it necessary for Starfleet to waste resources with this endeavour.” Kane raises his eyebrow and tilts his head, motioning for her to continue. “Roan has so far been…unwilling to share any information about his people, or his culture. Because of that, I have already made the decision to refuse him asylum on my station if his attitude does not change. I can’t allow a potentially dangerous alien to stay onboard and put my crew at risk. He has already proven himself to be a significant threat physically, and I cannot trust him until he gives me some reason to.” 

“Guilty until proven innocent,” Kane remarks. “I understand your point of view, Commander. Either way, Roan will be allowed to remain on the station until the diplomatic party arrives and is able to make contact with him. And I expect you to treat him as you would any guest, with the highest standard of Federation hospitality.” The communication flickers, Kane’s face distorting briefly as the sound cuts out.

“Ambassador, you’re breaking up,” Lexa says as she taps at the controls, trying to stabilize the image. Kane’s image flickers one more time and then cuts off completely. Lexa huffs in frustration and slams her hand down on the table. She taps her comm badge. “Commander to Lieutenant Reyes.” No response. “Come in, Reyes.” Still no response. “Commander to Lieutenant Commander T’Al.” Radio silence. “Commander to OPs.” Not even a crackle of static. “Commander to anyone on the station.” The lights flicker off, and the hum of the station’s stabilizers cuts out. Lexa quickly walks to the weapons locker and takes a phaser and plasma rife. She slings the rifle over her shoulder and sets her phaser to stun, holstering it. She opens the door manually and points her rifle forward, turning on the flashlight. The light bounces off the walls, casting an eerie glow about the corridor. The air is thin and cold, and Lexa doesn’t think that’s because Reyes fixed the environmental controls. 

Moving quickly, Lexa finds the nearest Jeffries tube and opens the panel, climbing inside. She starts climbing down the ladder, heading for the boardwalk. Anya was in OPs and would have everything under control, but there were most likely officers on the boardwalk, new officers who weren’t yet familiar with the station’s protocol in emergency situations. Indra would need help evacuating the boardwalk and getting the crew to their assigned emergency stations. 

It takes her ten minutes to reach the boardwalk. There is a light layer of frost on the walls and floor as she exits the Jeffries tube and runs her flashlight over the boardwalk. She recognizes the row of empty rooms (meant for the eventual instalment of shops), and makes a quick decision to head first towards the security office. 

The boardwalk is surprisingly quiet, and Lexa tries to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of her neck, like there’s someone watching her. She amounts the shiver that runs down her spine to the cold air. Her breath fogs in front of her as she jogs to the security office. The station is quieter than it’s ever been without the stabilizers running to keep the station in place. She doesn’t meet with anyone along the way. 

Indra’s office is empty. The computer panels are unresponsive as Lexa tries to play back security footage, access any computer controls, and send out a distress signal. She curses and hits the desk in frustration. The air feels thinner, and Lexa knows she has to find an oxygen supply before she can help anyone else. 

_If there is anyone else left to help,_ she thinks to herself. 

Sickbay stocks supplemental oxygen units and so Lexa makes that her next stop. The doors are closed and she has to force them open. The air in sickbay is slightly warmer, and Lexa starts rooting through the drawers of medical supplies. She’s digging through a drawer of dermal regenerators when she feels the tip of a phaser press into the small of her back. 

“On your knees,” the voice behind her says. 

“Clarke, put the phaser down,” Lexa says firmly. The phaser lowers and Lexa turns around. Clarke is holstering her phaser and Lexa finds herself holding back a smile at the sight of the doctor with her hair pulled back, strands falling around her face. 

“Sorry, Commander,” Clarke apologizes, “I wasn’t sure who you were. After what just happened…I had to take every precaution.” 

“I was alone in the conference room when the power cut,” Lexa says, “what happened?” 

Clarke steps around Lexa and pulls open the bottom drawer, grabbing two supplemental oxygen units. “I was running some viral simulations when the computers shut down and the lights went out. Someone started beaming onto the station, dozens of them in heavy environmental protection gear.” She hands Lexa an oxygen unit, helping her attach it to the back of her belt. “I shut the doors and tried to engage the locking system but the power had been cut,” she continues as Lexa helps her attach her own unit. “I hid in the OR, and when I couldn’t hear any more commotion I came back out here. I was trying to access atmospheric controls or the back up generator, but I wasn’t making any headway. Then you came in here and I had to react quickly.” 

Lexa nods and takes a breath from her unit. “We need to find out what happened to the crew,” she says. “Grab a med kit, and some more oxygen units, we have to sweep the rest of the station.” 

Lexa leads them around the boardwalk, flashlight reflecting off windows and abandoned furniture. It was like one of the old ‘ghost towns’ that she had heard of in Earth history at the Academy. The silence was deafening. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been in such silence before,” Clarke says quietly from behind her. “I grew up on ships, stations, and the Academy was never quiet, especially with Raven as my roommate.” 

Lexa grits her teeth. “Then maybe you should appreciate it now.” They reach the mess hall and together they pry the heavy doors open, pausing for a breath from their oxygen units before they raise their rifles and walk slowly into the multilevelled room. Lexa checks behind the bar as Clarke sweeps the lower level seating. 

“Clear,” Clarke calls out. 

“Clear,” Lexa answers. 

A loud crash sounds from an upper level. Lexa crouches down behind the bar and aims her rifle at the second level balcony. Clarke quickly follows suit and Lexa is thankful for the warm press of their arms in the cold hall. Another crash, and Lexa feels Clarke tense next to her. She looks over at the doctor. Her eyes are narrowed and focused on the balcony, and she would give off the perfect image of a battle-ready officer if it wasn’t for the slight trembling of her hands, making her rifle rattle gently against the bar. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says softly, putting a hand over Clarke’s trembling support hand, “you need to breathe. Being nervous or scared is normal, but you do not have the luxury of having those emotions right now.” Clarke looks over at her and Lexa fixes her with a steady gaze. “I need a fellow officer, not a scared cadet.” 

Another crashing sound from the balcony, this time louder and closer than before. Lexa quickly sets her rifle and looks through the sights. Suddenly, a table goes flying off the balcony and crashing into the wall just ten feet from where the two officers are taking cover. A deafening roar echoes around the hall. 

A moment of silence.

Then all hell breaks loose. A giant, dark figure comes flying down from the balcony, landing with a crash. It roars, emitting s strong sulphuric smell, and Lexa doesn’t hesitate to give the next order.

“Run!” 

The two officers scramble to the doors and Lexa fires back at the creature as they run, and she follows Clarke up the staircase. She takes regular breaths from her oxygen unit as they run. All of a sudden, Clarke trips and falls. Lexa stops and looks down at where the doctor has landed. 

Clarke quickly scrambles back from the dead body of a security officer, the front of her uniform now spotted with blood. She stares at the body and her eyes widen.

“Get up!” Lexa hisses at her. “Clarke, we have to move _now_!” Clarke pushed herself to her feet and takes off after the Commander. Lexa runs along the balcony, leaping over overturned consoles and dodging piles of rubble. They reach the end of the balcony and Lexa has to grab the back of Clarke’s uniform to stop her from tumbling over the railing. Lexa turns and aims her rifle. The sounds of the beast are farther away now, or at least quieter. Clarke takes out her tricorder and scans the area.

“I’m not picking up any life signs,” she informs Lexa. “That thing must be either out of range, or our technology can’t pick it up.” 

“We should try and make our way to the Jeffries tube on this level,” Lexa says, lowering her weapon and turning back to face the doctor. “We need to get to OPs and see if Anya is still on the station, or any other officers.” She takes a deep breath from her oxygen unit and squares her shoulders. “I’ll lead. Watch our rear, and don’t rush. The air is thinning, and we don’t need to tire ourselves out anymore than we need to.”

Clarke nods and follows Lexa. They move slowly, half crouched with their weapons at the ready. Lexa is about to signal for Clarke to cross the floor and open the Jeffries tube, when she smells sulphur in the air. Suddenly, the beast comes crashing towards them, seeming to appear right out of the shadows. Lexa takes a look around her quickly, trying to find an escape route. She’s in the middle of trying to calculate if they can still make it to the tube, when she feels Clarke’s hand around her bicep, tugging her in the direction of the railing. 

“Jump!” Clarke says, and Lexa watches as the doctor leaps fearlessly over the side, landing in a perfect roll. Lexa follows, shutting her eyes as she falls. As she lands, she leans to go into an impact-absorbing roll, but there’s a piece of metal that had been torn loose from some part of the station, and she lands awkwardly on top of it, the sharp edge slicing her shoulder as she rolls. She feels the joint pop as she finishes her landing awkwardly, her ankle also rolling unnaturally in the process. A sharp cry of pain escapes her and Clarke is beside her in an instant. She is hoisted to her feet and Clarke drapes her uninjured arm across her shoulders. 

“Leave me!” She tries to sound like a commanding officer, but the pain that infects her shoulder is bleeding into her voice and she knows she sounds weak. 

“Keep your other arm close across your chest,” Clarke instructs as she begins to hobble them away from the roaring creature above them. “There’s a Jeffries tube just over there, we just have to make it that far.” Lexa looks over her shoulder and sees the creature leaning over the side of the balcony, ripping the railing off the floor and throwing it aimlessly. 

“You are being foolish, Clarke,” she says through gritted teeth. “You should save yourself. It is not worth getting us both killed.” 

“Would you just shut up?” Clarke grunts, speeding up their hobbling pace. “I’m not leaving you to die!”

“You must save the symbiont,” Lexa continues. “Save the legacy of Heda, your conscience is not worth the loss of this symbiont!” 

“If you would shut up for a hot minute, you’d realize I’ve gotten you to the tube!” Clarke snaps. Lexa looks up and is indeed met with the sight of a tube entrance. Clarke slips out from under her arm and struggles with the hatch, the lack of oxygen in the air making each movement harder as she pulls at the metal door. “Stupid…fucking…door!” Clarke grunts with each pull, and she finally gets the hatch open. She almost shoves Lexa in first, and then crawls in after her, pulling the hatch shut. Lexa crawls in as far as she can, finally coming to rest against the wall. 

“We’re not staying in here, Lexa,” Clarke says. “I’m going to give you a shot of the pain, and I’ll heal that cut, but you have to keep pushing because I am _not_ going to sit around in a tiny tube waiting to die from asphyxiation.” 

“Clarke, please,” Lexa groans as the doctor rummages around in her med pack, “leave me. Save the symbiont.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” the doctor grumbles. “Even if I could just leave you here to die, there’s no way to contact the Symbiosis Committee, there are no other Trills, and I don’t have any of the necessary equipment to extract the symbiont.” She sticks a hypospray into Lexa’s arm and then rips open the Commander’s jacket, cuts the sleeve of her undershirt open and runs a dermal regenerator over the cut on her shoulder. “And I’m not going to let you die n some messed up, self-serving, and totally misguided attempt at some sort of martyrdom.” 

“You must learn to separate feelings from duty,” Lexa says as the skin on her shoulder begins to regenerate over the cut. 

“Trust me, I don’t.” 

Clarke finishes healing her shoulder, and she helps Lexa permanently attach her oxygen unit over her mouth and nose. She attaches her own and gestures in front of her in the universal gesture for ‘lead the way’. Lexa huffs, but she struggles to her hands and knees and begins crawling in the direction of the tube that will lead them to OPs, the sounds of the creature disappearing behind them. 

* * *

 

_This is a distress call, broadcasting on all frequencies from the Starfleet ship_ Vonnegut _. Our station has been compromised, our crew taken. If able, please respond. — This is a distress call, broadcasting on all frequencies from the Starfleet ship_ Vonnegut _. Our station has been compromised, our crew taken. If able, please respond. — This is a distress call, broadcasting on all frequencies from the Starfleet ship_ Vonnegut _. Our station has been compromised, our crew taken. If able, please respond._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies for this taking so long. I had a long holiday break that involved way too much family time, then classes started up again and that was rough...but I think I'm getting back into the swing of this! Thank you for all your comments and kudos, they're what keep me writing :) It was a short chapter but I hope it was still good, it was actually quite hard to write... I'll see you again soon, I hope! Thanks for reading :)


	5. Stardate --systems down--

_“Finn, stop, we have to report on the bridge in ten minutes,” Clarke says, halfheartedly pushing him off of her. He looks up from where he’d been kissing her neck, giving her his trademark grin. Her heart flutters at the sight of him, his hair flopping in front of his eyes and his cheeks flushed._

_“So we’ll be late,” he says with a shrug, leaning down and kissing her firmly. Clarke almost gave in, almost listened to the voice in her head that told her to just stay and enjoy this time with this boy who loves her, but instead she pokes him in the ribs and he yelps, rolling off of her and subsequently falling right off the bed. Clarke sits up, leaning on her elbows and looks down at him, laughing as he groans and twists onto his back. “You play dirty, Princess,” he groans._

_Clarke smiles innocently and gets up, grabbing her uniform jacket and slipping it on. “Better get ready, I hear Captain Sydney is a real hard-ass when it comes to punctuality.” She pulls her hair up and smiles back at him one her shoulder as she exits his quarters. “See you on duty, Junior Lieutenant Collins.”_

_“Aye aye, Lieutenant Griffin.”_

* * *

 

Clarke huffs from her lounging position in the command chair as Lexa moves from console to console, trying to get any systems up and running.

“If you keep moving around, I’m not going to be able to set your shoulder,” Clarke calls after the Commander. “But sure, if you want to go through the rest of your life with one arm that’s longer than the other, that’s your decision.” 

Lexa shoots her a withering look from under the tactical console. “Maybe if you could lend a hand, we would be able to get at least our life support back, and maybe even get our communications back up online.” Lexa pulls a panel off the bottom of the console and shines a flashlight into the wiring. “But sure, if you would rather laze around and pout like a petulant child, that is your decision.” 

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and resists her childish urge to stick her tongue out at the Commander. She watches as the Trill fiddles with the inner wiring. Her wounded arm is held in place against her chest by a strip of the upholstering that Clarke had ripped off the command chair and fashioned as a basic sling. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Clarke asks. Lexa lowers her hand from the console and slides back on the floor, sitting up. 

“No,” she admits, “I have no idea.” She looks like a child, Clarke thinks, sitting on the floor with her legs out in front of her, head hanging down in shame. 

“So what were you trying to do?” Clarke asks again, hiding her amused smile behind her hand. 

Lexa shrugs. “I was mostly hoping that if I fiddled around enough, something would light up.” 

Clarke can’t help the laugh that escapes her then and Lexa looks up at her with a wound expression. “I’m sorry, but,” Clarke struggles to get her laughter under control, “the mighty commander was just planning on sticking her hand inside a console and poking things until something either started working again, exploded, or caught on fire?” Clarke shakes her head amusedly. “I know we’re in a pretty dire situation at the moment, but that’s too good.” 

Lexa holds her gaze with her hurt eyes for a second longer, until she, too, smiles and lets out a small chuckle. “It was not a good plan.” She gets to her feet and walks over to where Clarke is sitting. She sits down in front of her and looks up at the doctor with a small, apologetic smile. “I am sorry I was being such a difficult patient. I do not like to…to show weakness.” 

“There’s nothing weak about admitting that you need help,” Clarke says, grabbing her med kit from the floor beside the chair. She digs through it in the low emergency lighting of OPs, searching for the right tool.

“That is where our opinions differ,” Lexa states quietly. “There are many things that constitute weakness. Inability to know when your fight is over is one of them, as well as not being able to leave behind anything or anyone that will slow you down.” Clarke rolls her eyes and helps the officer take off her shirt, revealing her wounded shoulder. 

“Are you calling me weak?” She asks, pretending to be insulted. 

Lexa ties her head to the side. “I do not believe that you would be able to leave anyone behind, even if it would save a thousand lives.” Clarke lets out a hollow laugh. 

“I’ve made that decision in the past,” Clarke says evenly, “and since then, I’ve made sure to not be in that position ever again.”She braces Lexa’s shoulder. “Okay, this is going to hurt like a bitch. On the count of three. One, two -“ At ‘two’, Clarke pops Lexa’s shoulder back in with a satisfying crunch. She watches as Lexa’s eyes close for a moment, and the commander takes a deep breath.

“I think your basic arithmetic skills need work,” Lexa grumbles, fixing the doctor with a one-eye-open glare. Clarke rolls her eyes. 

“The mighty Commander can’t take a little relocation?”

“I thought doctors were supposed to have empathy for their patients.” 

“I was never very good with bedside manner.”

“Hmm.”

Silence falls between them. Clarke continues her work on Lexa’s shoulder slowly, taking the opportunity to take a closer look at Lexa’s spots. They run from the hairline just above her temple, down the sides of her face and neck, and then over her shoulders and disappearing into the neckline of the uniform grey sleeveless shirt she’s wearing. There’s also a tattoo on her bicep, and Clarke can see the beginnings of another that starts at the top of her spine. 

Clarke finishes by spraying on some antiseptic, and then retying the makeshift sling. 

“Thank you, Clarke.” 

Clarke looks at the commander, surprised (not for the first time) by the soft quality that her voice carries. 

“I’m a doctor,” Clarke says with a shrug, “it’s what I do.” 

Lexa nods and holds Clarke’s gaze for a beat too long. She blinks and averts her eyes, slowly standing. “You should get some rest,” she says, looking at the wall behind Clarke. “I will go to my ready room and see if I can get any of my communications back online.”

Clarke nods. “Let me know if you need any help, or if your shoulder starts bothering you.”

“I will. Rest well, Clarke.”

* * *

 

 _“_ Sha, _Lexa!” Gustus congratulates as Lexa disarms and kills her opponent. “Very good. Your bat’leth skills have improved greatly.”_

_Lexa stands with her back ramrod straight, bat’leth held at her side. “Thank you, Gustus.” She wipes sweat from her forehead and shifts on her feet._

_“But you still have a very long way to go if you wish to be Heda,” Gustus says, towering over Lexa’s tiny frame. “You are the youngest of all the other applicants, and the smallest.”_

_“But I’m also the smartest,” Lexa says with a smile. Gustus chuckles and crouches down to match her eye-level._

_“Yes, little_ suvwl’ _, you have your wits,” he says with an affectionate smile. “It is not always to strongest warrior that wins.”_

_Lexa nods and Gustus claps her on the back, jolting her forward slightly. “Can I run the simulation again?” She asks eagerly, rocking forward on the balls of her feet, struggling to lift the bat’leth back into battle-ready position._

_Gustus stands and adjusts Lexa’s grip. “Computer, run simulation again.”_

* * *

 

Clarke is startled awake by a loud clanging noise. She sits up quickly and grabs at her phaser on her hip. She whips her head around, trying to find the source of the noise. She sees Lexa come rushing out of her ready room, holding two ancient earth blades.

“What the hell are those?” Clarke whisper-yells at the commander. 

“They are my swords,” Lexa replies in the same tone, striding to stand beside Clarke. 

“You have swords?”

“Do humans no longer train in hand-to-hand combat techniques?” 

Another clang interrupts Clarke from replying, and she points at the hatch that the noise came from. Lexa nods and takes a defensive stance. 

Another clang. 

One more.

And then the hatch falls to the floor and a figure crawls out into the dimly lit room. 

“Hands where I can see them,” Clarke says, hoping her voice doesn’t betray how scared she feels. 

“You first,” the figure replies in a familiar voice.

“Raven?”

“Clarke?”

Clarke lowers her weapon and rushes forward, crashing into Raven and pulling her into a hug. 

“Thank god you’re okay,” Clarke says, voice muffled by Raven’s shoulder. 

Raven squeezes her tightly. “Is the Commander holding swords, or is the oxygen deprivation getting to my head?” Clarke laughs and steps back from the hug, rubbing Raven’s arms briefly before dropping her hands. 

“She’s holding swords,” Clarke affirms. 

“They are a most effective weapon,” Lexa defends from her position behind Clarke. “Reyes, brief me.”

Raven steps around Clarke, who is then finally able to catch a glimpse of the people who crawled out just after Raven. Lieutenant Green and Ensign Jordan are huddled together, and Clarke can see that Green is supporting Jordan’s weight. Clarke rushes forward and helps Lt. Green get Ens. Jordan to the command chair. 

Clarke listens in on Raven as she begins scanning Ens. Jordan. “I was running a diagnostic on the environmental controls, trying to get the heat under control. I was in Jeffries tube 25 when all the power was cut. Lights, communications, the whole shebang. We still have minimal life support, obviously, and I was able to reroute enough power to light us a path to OPs through maintenance tubes. Ensign Jordan fell off a ladder, probably at least sprained something.”

“He’s got one sprained ankle and a hairline fracture in his foot,” Clarke confirms from her scans. She digs through her med kit and finds a bone regenerator just where it should be, and Clarke thanks the ridiculous guidelines that Starfleet has for emergency med kits. 

Lt. Green helps her take off Jordan’s boots, and Clarke begins healing the fracture. 

“Can you bring back any essential systems from OPs?” Lexa asks Raven. 

“Well, that’s the dream,” Raven says. “I’m going to need Monty’s help. He’s wasted as a science officer, he should absolutely be an engineer.” 

Lexa nods. “We need communications and life support,” she orders. “I want at least short range communications back online within the next two hours, we are running out of time.” 

“Two hours?” Raven repeats incredulously, throwing her hands up in the air. “Are you insane? We literally had all of our power drained and all systems compromised. If I can even get in-station communications back online within the _day_ , I’ll be calling this a success.”

“That is unacceptable,” Lexa states. “You do not have a choice in this matter, Reyes. I need those systems, and I need them within two hours. It is not a request. It is an _order_.” 

Raven holds her tongue and nods. She makes her way to the comms console and starts taking it apart. “Monty, get over here. I’m going to need your help with this mess.” She grunts as she pulls off the cover. Lt. Green leaves Clarke with Ens. Jordan, and starts helping Raven. 

“Commander, I’m going to need your hands over here,” Clarke calls to Lexa, who is hovering by Raven. Clarke can practically see the steam coming out of the engineer’s ears. Lexa strides over to Clarke and follows the doctor’s instructions carefully to move the injured ensign onto the floor, elevating his leg onto the chair. Clarke sets up her emergency field monitoring system, standing up and stretching out her back when she finishes. Lexa starts pacing back and forth in front of the command chair, her uninjured arm awkwardly resting behind her back where she would normally clasp her hands together. 

“Raven’s the best,” Clarke says, just loud enough so that the Commander can hear her. “She’ll get those systems up.” Lexa turns and looks at her, and for a split second Clarke can see her own fear reflected in the Trill’s eyes. 

“If she cannot get atmospheric controls online, or we are left without communications systems…” Lexa trails off and Clarke steps towards her. A careful hand is placed on the Commander’s good arm. 

“We have to trust that someone got out, and is getting help as we speak,” Clarke reasons. “At the very least, Starfleet will get suspicious when you don’t check in for your three-times-a-week report.” 

Lexa steps closer to Clarke. “Do you place that much faith in your fellow crew?” Her voice is low and she glances over in the direction of Raven and Lt. Green. 

“At this point, that’s all we can do,” Clarke answers. “Besides, there are few people I trust more with my life than many of these crew members.” She’s lying through her teeth, and she knows Lexa can tell. “I served with Bellamy for three years, if anyone can operate under pressure like this, it’s him.”

“He is the Bajoran major, correct?” Lexa asks.

Clarke nods. “And then there’s his sister, Octavia. She’s as tough as a self-locking bolt. And you’re experiencing the Raven Reyes determination as we speak.” She squeezes the Commander’s arm lightly, then withdraws her hand. “Don’t you trust your crew? First Officer T’Al, Indra, anyone?” 

Lexa looks her in the eye and Clarke feels the familiar weight on her shoulders that she gets when Lexa looks at her too long, or too seriously, or too personally. “I trust you, Clarke,” Lexa says in her softest voice, “and if you say we should have faith in your friends, I will trust you.” 

“You put a lot of faith in a doctor you only met a week ago,” Clarke says. She tries to keep her tone light, but there is nothing light about this situation. 

“Perhaps it is your poor bedside manner,” Lexa teases with a small smile. 

Clarke smiles, about to reply, when Raven curses from across the room. 

“Clarke, I need more hands! Fuck this new-age technology, it was the worst day of my life when they decided to introduce bio-engineering to purely _non-biological systems_!"

Clarke takes a startled step back from the Commander, and almost trips over her own feet trying to back away casually. Lexa straightens her back and clears her throat.

“I will be in my ready room. I expect half-hourly updates on your progress, Lieutenant.” Clarke watches Lexa sweep into her ready-room, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes before heading over to where Raven is colourfully cursing at the console. 

* * *

 

_Clarke hides under her bed as the red alert alarms blare through her family’s quarters. She feels the ship shake and rock under phaser fire, and she clamps her small hands over her ears. Her bottom lip trembles with the tears that are threatening to spill from her eyes._

_She is six years old, and all she wants are her mom and dad._

_The ship takes a sharp turn, and Clarke finds herself sliding out from under her bed. Her fingers scratch at the floor, trying to find purchase, but she slides back, back, back, and she hits the wall behind her. It doesn’t hurt that much, not really, but she’s upset and she wants her mom and dad. The little girl breaks out into sobs, and the ship rights itself._

_She remembers her mom telling her to always go to sickbay when she hurts herself, and Clarke knows her mom is always working in sickbay. She scrambles to her feet and runs as fast as her little legs can carry her, out of her quarters, and to the turbo lift. She’s never taken the turbo lift alone before, her dad says it’s easy to get lost if you don’t have all the decks memorised. But Clarke has visited her mom in sickbay with her dad before, and she knows how to get there._

_The alarms are louder in the smoke-hazed halls, and when the turbo lift doors finally open, Clarke rushes in. “Deck 12!” She says over the alarms, and the doors close and the lift takes off. The ship shakes more as the lift climbs, and Clarke hiccoughs down her sobs. The doors open onto deck 12, and she follows the path to sickbay. She passes by a couple of security officers, all of them too busy running through the halls with their big guns to notice a crying child._

_She reaches sickbay and steps into chaos. There are medical staff rushing from bed to bed, and Clarke can see people on beds, people sitting against the walls. Clarke is too focused on finding her mom to notice the injuries and the pain around her._

_She can’t see her mom, and everyone is moving too quickly to notice her or for her to recognize them. So she weaves her way through legs and tables, and sits down under her mom’s desk. There are no alarms ringing in sickbay, just an occasional red light flashing, and Clarke lies down, the hum of the technology under the floor taking over the beeping of medical equipment, and the moans coming from injured officers, and Clarke falls asleep._

_When she wakes up, she’s back safe in her own bed, as if she’d dreamed the whole thing. The only evidence that something unusual happened is the sleeping body of her mom cured up beside her in the small bed._

* * *

 

Raven brings atmospheric controls back online in just over an hour. The air is flooded with more oxygen, and Clarke takes a deep breath, immediately feeling her head start to clear. Raven gives Monty a high-five and sends him to work on environmental controls next, while she starts right away on the comms console. Clarke passes time handing Raven different tools and laughing at Monty’s bad science puns from across the OPs room. Lexa comes out of her ready room every half-hour, as promised, and gets updated by Raven on their status. Clarke watches her as, every time she comes out, she goes over to Ensign Jordan and puts a bracing hand on his shoulder, checking his vitals.

“You’re staring, doc,” Raven says from her position arm-deep in the comms console. 

Clarke whips her around to glare at her. “I’m not staring,” she argues. “Focus on your own work, _chief_.” 

Raven groans, “You heard about that, eh?” She shakes her head and there’s a small flash of light from inside the console. “It’s awful. I mean, it’s better than ‘sir’ or ‘Lieutenant’ every time they want to say so much as ‘good morning’, but still.” Raven pulls her arm out and passes Clark the decoupler she was using. “Coil spanner.” 

“I had four officers call me doc this past week,” Clarke says, handing Raven the coil spanner, “and I know they didn’t decide to do that all on their own.”

“You have no proof.”

“They were all engineers.”

Raven coughs. “Correlation does not equal causation, Clarke.” Clarke rolls her eyes and leans back against the console behind her. “Okay, this should do it,” Raven says. There’s a buzz, a flash, and a puff of smoke, then the console lights up and Raven lets out a triumphant whoop. She slides out form under the console, and stands up slowly, stretching her arms and rolling her neck. Clarke stands up quickly, peering over the engineer’s shoulder as she taps at the controls. 

“I’ll get Lexa.” Clarke walks briskly over to the Commander’s ready room, and she taps the doorbell. The doors slide open and Clarke sees Lexa asleep at her desk, head down, snoring lightly. Clarke takes a few steps forward before stopping. It had been a long day, a long night, and Clarke knew that Lexa hadn’t gotten any sleep while she, herself, had at least gotten those few hours of rest before Raven came swooping in. So she respectfully backs out of the room, and closes the doors. 

“Raven, send out a distress signal on all frequencies,” she orders. “Lieutenant Green, how close are you to finishing work on the environmental controls?” 

“I think I’m almost done,” the science officer replies.

“When you’ve finished, I want you to work on getting our shields and weapons back online,” Clarke tells him decisively. “Right now, we’re sitting ducks if any hostiles catch wind of our distress signal before our allies do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lt. Green says, turning back to his work. 

“Can you get in-station communications back online?” Clarke asks Raven. 

“It should be easy now that long-range comms are running,” Raven answers. “After that, we should focus on scanner capabilities and sensors.” Clarke nods and goes over to where Ens. Jordan is still lying on the floor. 

“Ensign, we’re going to get you to sickbay and fix you up as soon as we can,” Clarke reassure him. 

“That’s what the Commander has been saying,” Jordan says weakly. “I’m starting to think that you guys are just making stuff up to make me feel better.” He laughs a little bit, coughing slightly. Clarke checks his vitals and takes note of his low heart rate. 

“If there's one thing I’ve learned about the Commander these past days, it’s that she doesn’t waste time trying to comfort people with lies,” Clarke tells him. “Let me know if your meds wear off, it’s not a weakness to admit when your pain is too much.” Ens. Jordan nods and Clarke leaves him, settling into one of the empty officer’s seats. 

Time passes slowly. There is no response to their distress signal for what feels like hours, though Clarke is sure it’s been no more than an hour. The temperature rises to a manageable level, and Clarke can see the Ensign’s vitals start to rise to a more acceptable level. Raven sends out another distress signal. Lt. Green manages to get the lights up from emergency status, and Clarke has to blink against their brightness, eyes unused to the light after such a long time spent under the dim emergency lighting.

The doors to Lexa’s ready-room opens, and the Commander steps out, looking much more put together than Clarke left her. Her uniform is almost impeccable, her sling straightened out and her hair pulled back in it’s usual braids. Clarke can’t help but wonder how she managed that with her injured arm, until she realizes that the stubborn Trill probably just pushed through the pain. Clarke stands to attention, as protocol demands when a commanding officer enters OPs. 

“Status, Dr. Griffin,” Lexa requests, walking over to her. 

“We sent out two distress signals, Lieutenant Green has fixed atmospheric, environmental, and lighting controls, and is now working on getting shields and weapons systems online,” Clarke reports. “Lieutenant Reyes is working on in-station communications. Ensign Jordan is stabilizing, but I don’t know how much longer we should wait to try and get him to sickbay.” Lexa nods and takes the seat next to Clarke’s.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing left to do but wait.”

* * *

 

 _Starfleet ship_ Vonnegut _, this is the Starfleet vessel_ Everest _. We have received your signal and will be at you position in twelve hours. Hold position and wait for rendezvous. You are not alone. We will keep communications open until we reach you. You are_ not _alone._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sporadic update! Thanks everyone for your really kind comments and all your kudos :) This chapter isn't super exciting but I hope it had some interesting bits to it. Your support on this story means so much, and thank you for sticking by me with my weird schedule (or lack thereof). I'll try to keep things more regular, but I make no promises! Thanks again :)


	6. Stardates 61859 - 61861

_First Officer’s log, Stardate 61859.2. The_ Everest _has rendezvoused with our runabout. Any injured officer has been treated, and I am awaiting the order to move on the station. We received communications from Heda and the remaining officers now that they have re-established communications, but protocol dictates that we must exercise caution if there is any possibility of an unknown life form. I have also contacted the Coalition, as I am expected to as part of my duty to Heda. Lexa will not be pleased when Titus arrives._

 

* * *

Clarke shifts anxiously on the medical bed on board the _Everest_. Doctors really do make the worst patients, and Clarke is no exception. She feels sidelined, and she had watched as Lexa and Raven had both been cleared to leave sickbay and attend to their duties. More and more officers from _Polis_ are being brought in as they’re being found all over the station. The rescue had been anti-climatic, Starfleet officers beaming onboard and helping the survivors, beaming them back to the _Everest._ Clarke had been admitted to sickbay and treated for injuries that she thought were superficial, but they were forcing her to stay for observation because of potential head injury. 

“My vitals are fine, my neurological patterns are normal, and you’re an ensign,” Clarke argues with the young officer who is trying to keep her on the bed. “As your superior officer, I am _ordering_ you to let me go. I have to get back to my sickbay.” 

“Your Commander told me you might say that,” the nervous ensign says, “and she said that I was under _her_ very strict orders to keep you for observation.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I don’t really give a damn what the Commander told you,” she says, grabbing her uniform jacket from the side table and pulling it on as the ensign watches her helplessly. “I’m a doctor, she’s not. I have years of medical training and knowledge, which all tell me that I am _fine._ ”She pats the ensign on the shoulder and strides out of sickbay. She taps her comm badge. “Emergency transport, security clearance Griffin-twelve-beta-seven. One to beam to _Polis_ sickbay.” 

The transporter starts up, and Clarke is met with the usual tingling that comes with transporting. There’s a fraction of a second just before rematerilization when Clarke always feels non-corporeal, or what she imagines that feeling must be, and then she’s tingling again as she rematierializes in her sickbay. 

“Computer, lights.” 

The lights flicker to life above her, and Clarke sighs at the messy state of sickbay. Medical instruments and supplies are all over the floor, a bed has been overturned, and her desk is split in half. 

She taps her comm badge. “Dr. Griffin to OPs.”

“ _This is OPs, go ahead doctor.”_

“I need a maintenance team down in sickbay, it’s been totally ransacked.”

“ _We’ll send someone down right away._ ”

“Fantastic. Griffin out.” 

Repairs to the station take days. Almost all the computer systems were corrupted, and the general body of the station was damaged severely. With the help of the _Everest_ ’s crew, the task took about half the time it would have with the normal _Polis_ engineering staff. Clarke knows she was lucky for sickbay being considered an “essential” part of the station, and there was a maintenance team working around the clock to get everything back in running order. Officers were still being found all over the station in various states. Patients were being transferred daily from the _Everest_ to Clarke’s care, and she had been able to convince LtCr.T’Al to assign some officers as extra medical staff. Unfortunately, the Lieutenant Commander had somehow managed to assign the most irritating officers onboard the station. 

“Murphy, have you ever heard of the term ‘bedside manner’ before?” Clarke says, pulling Murphy aside for what feels like the thousandth time this hour. 

“I’m not a doctor,” he sneers, “I don’t care if people are having nice stay at the Griffin B&B. Can you blame me for gagging at that guy’s disgusting…thing?” 

“It’s an infected laceration,” Clarke sighs, “it isn’t supposed to be pretty. But you have a duty to perform, and having you dry-heaving all over him won’t help Ensign Simms feel like he’s got much of a chance for recovery.” 

“It _smells_ ,” Murphy insists. 

“So do you, but you don’t see me gagging every time I have to stand within five feet of you.” Clarke folds her arms across her chest and fixes Murphy with a glare. “You don’t have to smile, Lieutenant, but I do expect a little self-control.” 

Murphy huffs and gives a half-hearted salute. Clarke sends him off to the patient and she watches for a minute. Murphy may be an ass, and he may be slimy, but Clarke can’t help but be impressed by the natural way he uses the medical tools. 

Clarke is repairing a Bajoran man’s broken wrist when Lexa comes into sickbay. It isn’t like the air shifts, or the lights brighten, no, but somehow without seeing her, Clarke knows the moment she steps through the doorway. 

She finishes her repair and sends the officer on his way, and then walks over to meet Lexa by her desk. 

“Can I help you with something, Commander?” Clarke says, holding her hands in front of her. 

“I need you to examine me,” Lexa says, her eyes darting around the room. “I need you to run a full examination, neural, physical, any tests you have.” Clarke furrows her brow in concern and leads Lexa to one of the few private examination rooms. She directs the Commander to sit on the bed, and she pulls up a chair for herself. 

“What’s going on, Lexa?” She asks.

Lexa sits like she’s got a rod holding her back straight, and her hands rest in her lap. “I have been having trouble sleeping.” 

Clarke frowns. “I can’t really justify running a full examination just because you can’t sleep. I can maybe prescribe something, or suggest some dietary changes.” 

“It is not just sleeping,” Lexa admits, and Clarke waits patiently for her to continue. “I have been…bleeding. Not physically, but spiritually.” 

Clarke nods slowly. She runs a hand through her disheveled hair and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. When Lexa doesn’t continue, Clarke sighs. “Lexa. I’m a doctor, not a spiritualist. You’re going to have to explain yourself a little more.” 

“The spirits of the previous lives of Heda speak to me in my dreams occasionally,” Lexa begins. “Usually when I am being faced with a decision, or am under great stress. Only once before have these voices bled into my waking world, and that was before I had learned how to control my past lives. But now, I am experiencing these voices at almost all hours, waking or sleeping. And over the past day I have been…having visions of these past lives.” 

“Hallucinations?” Clarke tries to clarify, because this is all throwing her for a little bit of a loop. 

Lexa nods. “Primarily auditory. But I saw the tenth Heda, Dessol, standing in OPs today.” 

“And this is definitely not normal?” Clarke says, grabbing a tablet and taking down notes.

“No, Clarke, it is not normal.” 

“Okay, just checking.” Clarke smiles reassuringly at the worried looking Trill. “I’m not really familiar with Trills. You’re the first one I’ve ever met.” 

“Most Trills go their whole lives without these complications,” Lexa explains. “Some will experience dreams of past lives, but it is almost exclusively the Heda symbiont that causes visions and auditory experiences of this strength.” Lexa rubs at her temples, her usual composure breaking for a moment. She shakes her head slowly and Clarke quickly grabs her tricorder, scanning her patient. 

“Lexa, hey, come back to me,” Clarke says, resting one hand on the Commander’s knee. The tricorder picks up elevated neural signals, but nothing that would normally be reason for concern. Lexa opens her eyes slowly and looks at Clarke, locking their eyes together. 

“I cannot perform my duties like this,” she says quietly. “Please, Clarke. Run any tests you need to in order to help me.” Clarke nods and squeezes her knee gently. 

“I’ll give it my best shot, but I’m sure that the Symbiosis Commisson, or a Trill doctor would be a lot more helpful.” 

“No!” Lexa exclaims, shocking Clarke so much that she jumps a little and snatches her hand back from Lexa’s knee. “You can do this, Clarke. I have faith in you.” 

Clarke sighs. “Okay then, Commander. Time to get started.” 

 

* * *

_“You must learn to block out the voices, Lexa.”_

_Lexa clenches her fists, her jaw, squeezes her eyes shut._

To be Heda is to be alone.

_“If you cannot control what is happening in your own mind, how can you expect to lead?”_

_She takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly through her lips._

Wisdom. Compassion. Strength.

_“The Klingons taught you to be a warrior. The Vulcans taught you to think, to calculate. The Academy will teach you to be an officer. But it is I that will teach you to truly be Heda.”_

_Lexa opens her eyes and looks up from her crouched position on the floor._

Love is weakness, a distraction. 

_“You have been chosen for this honour, the honour of being Heda. You were chosen to lead, trained, groomed, perfected. If you allow the past lives of Heda to interfere with that duty, you will have failed.”_

_Lexa straightened up and nodded, looking Titus in the eye._

Alone. 

_“Ignore the physical, ignore any pain, ignore your emotions, control the voices. You are Heda.”_

_Lexa holds her ground as the next wave of pain comes, the voices ebbing away as she wills them, as she pictures the tide on the beaches of Betazed._

_“Are they silent?”_

_“They are. Thank you, Titus.”_

_Another wave of pain, greater than the last._

To be Heda is to be alone.

 

* * *

“This is the worst posting _ever_ ,” Raven whines from her position face planted on Clarke’s bed. Clarke looks over her shoulder at her friend and rolls her eyes. “I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours because everything is always breaking, and only about a quarter of my staff are capable enough to do anything without my direct supervision.” 

“You’re just hungry,” Clarke says, checking her hair in the mirror before turning around and flopping onto the bed beside Raven. She rolls over and flings her arm over the engineer, snuggling her face into Raven’s thin shoulder. 

“Ew, get off me,” Raven complains. Clarke just snuggled further into Raven and drapes her leg over her. “You’re gross and smell like hand sanitizer.” 

“Yeah well you smell like the inside of a space station,” she retorts. “So I’m really the one who is suffering here.” 

“You’re also the one who is clinging to me like a limpet.”

Clarke laughs and rolls off of Raven with a dramatic sigh. “You suck, Reyes.”

“Only if you ask real nice, Griffin.” Raven reaches over and taps Clarke’s cheek. “Now come on, we promised Octavia that we’d meet her for dinner in like, ten minutes ago.” Clarke groans and closes her eyes. 

“I spent my entire day running tests on Lexa, I’m too tired to eat,” she grumbles. “Leave me here to sleep forever, don’t make me get up.” 

Raven raises an eyebrow. “You spent the day with _Lexa_ , huh?” 

Clarke opens one of her eyes and fixes raven with a curious look. “Why are you saying it in such a weird way? I’m her doctor, I’m everyone’s doctor, and she needed medical attention.” 

“Ah, is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” 

Clarke sits up and grabs the pillow from behind her, whacking Raven with it. “Stop - being - a - child.” She punctuates each word with a whack of the pillow, and Raven rolls away, falling off the bed with a thump and cursing in Spanish. “Let’s just go meet Octavia.” Clarke stands up and helps Raven up. “That is, if you’re done being a child.” 

“I’m always the epitome of maturity,” Raven says, pretending to be offended. Clarke laughs and grabs a jacket, the two of them making their way out the door and down the hall to the turbo lift. 

As they stand in the lift, Raven looks over at Clarke. Clarke slowly meets her eyes and furrows her brow in confusion.

“What?” 

Raven shrugs. “Just wondering if the Commander’s spots go all the way down or not. I figured you would - ow!”

Clarke slaps Raven’s arm twice more for good measure and then flips her off. “I hope you choke on your food.”

 

* * *

_“Lieutenant Commander Griffin, you have the bridge.”_

_“Aye, sir.” Clarke says, standing and taking over for Captain Kane at the command chair._

_“Commander Byrne and I will return in three days,” Kane instructs. “You are to rendezvous with the archaeological team on Tondisi Prime tomorrow. We will then meet with you at Tiobos VII.” Clarke nods and Kane offers his hand. She clasps it and he gives it a firm shake. “A pretty routine three days. Try to keep my ship in one piece, Clarke.”_

_Clarke smiles and nods again. “Will do, sir.” Kane gives her one last bracing look, and then he exits the bridge. Clarke looks down at the chair that sits empty for her, and she remembers something her father always told her when she would call home, worried about her position, her future, her decisions._

_She looks up and is met with the eyes of all her fellow officers trained on her. She controls her smile as she locks eyes with Finn at the tactical console. He tilts his head and quirks his lips up into his usual boyish smile._

_Clarke sets her shoulders. “You heard the captain. Helm, plot a course to Tondisi, warp 4.” She turns and slowly sits down in the command chair. It contours her body, comfortable but firm, with little give but plenty of support._

It’s hard to lead a cavalry charge if you think you look funny on a horse, _Clarke hears her father’s voice say in her head. She runs her hands over the armrests and feels a great lightness in her chest. This is what she’s dreamt of since she was a child. The responsibility of command, the duty to a crew of people. It settles over her, a comforting weight. Something she’s longed to carry._

_The helmsman looks back at her for final instruction._

_Clarke raises a hand and points her fingers forward as she says, with as much certainty and control as she can muster, “Engage.”_

 

* * *

Lexa is lying on her couch with her dog’s head in her lap when the door to her quarters chimes. Gustus raises his head and a low rumble starts in hi chest. Lexa sits up and straightens out her uniform shirt. 

“Enter.”

The doors slide open and Anya enters, her uniform immaculate as always, her eyes impassive and body held in the perfectly straight posture that she always reinforced in Lexa. 

“Anya,” Lexa greets, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” She stands and watches as Anya greets Gustus with a familiar scratch behind the ears. The Vulcan straightens out and inclines her head at the table. They sit opposite each other and Lexa feels Anya’s scrutinizing gaze cut right through her. 

“What are you doing with Dr. Griffin?” Anya asks, no room in her Vulcan sensibilities for pretence. 

Lexa frowns. “I’m afraid I do not understand the question.” 

If Anya had been anything but herself, Lexa imagines she would laugh in disbelief. Instead, Anya simply raises an eyebrow. “You spent over three hours in sickbay today.” 

“I requested medical attention.”

“For what reasons?”

Lexa sighs and just barely contains an eye-roll. “I’ve been having trouble with bleeding. I was hoping Clar- Dr. Griffin may be able to help me.” 

“You are being foolish.” 

Anya’s voice is as even and unaffected by emotion as it should be, but Lexa has spent over fifteen years with her. For a Vulcan, Anya has always worn her emotions much closer to the surface than a good Vulcan is supposed to. Lexa sees the subtle twitch of Anya’s upper lip, the slight crease to her brow, the set of her jaw. She’s upset with Lexa, she’s frustrated, and if she were able to forget herself, she would probably be yelling at the Commander, at her Heda for her foolishness. 

But instead she maintains composure, which is almost worse. Lexa looks down her lap, chastised thoroughly from those simple words. 

“I do not wish to bring Titus here,” the Trill admits. “He will force me to return to the Institute, or force me to accommodate him here.” 

“If it is trouble with bleeding, or anything related to Heda, you have a duty to inform Titus.” Anya’s words feel like small knives, chastising her commander. “You are behaving illogically. Dr. Griffin is not prepared or qualified to provide medical care to Heda.” 

“ _I_ am Heda,” Lexa insisted. “I decide what medical care I wish to receive, not you, and certainly not _Titus_.” She rises from her chair and Gustus sits patiently but attentively by her side. 

“You may be the current Heda, Lexa,” Anya argues, “but you alone do not make decisions for the well-being of Heda.” Anya stands as well, and Lexa watches her walk to the window, silhouetted by the stars. 

“‘To be Heda is to be alone’,” Lexa quotes from her teachings. 

“Mockery is not-“

“-the product of a strong mind, I am aware.” Lexa feels herself growing increasingly frustrated. She feels like a child again, being reprimanded for staying up late watching the ships come and go from the trading post she lived next to on Vulcan. “I trust Dr. Griffin’s medical expertise. She is more than qualified to run tests and formulate hypotheses on my condition.” 

Anya turns to look at her. “You do not require hypotheses. You know what is wrong. You know what will help. You are forgetting yourself, and your position.” Lexa clasps her hands together behind her back, digging her nails into her palms. 

“Believe me, Anya, I remember my teachings,” she snaps. “I remember them everyday, I remember them when I wake up, when I have to meditate and train everyday simply to keep the voices of Heda at bay. I remember them when I spend each day and night alone, without friends, with only those who serve Heda, and those who are ordered to follow the Commander. I remember my teachings each time I speak to Starfleet, and I know I will never become a captain. That my ambition is limited, that my achievements are doubted by any outsiders.” Lexa goes to stand beside Anya at the window. “Do I wish that sometimes, I could forget everything you, Gustus, and Titus have taught me? Of course. But _I_ _am Heda_. And I will carry this responsibility until my death. I do not need you to remind me of my duty.” 

Anya places a hand on her arm, a familiar touch that always brings Lexa just a moment of comfort. “You have become distracted, Lexa. If you are not careful, I cannot predict what will happen to you.” 

Lexa smiles slightly, knowing that is Anya-speak for, “You’re worrying me, I’m scared for you, let me help you.” 

“I assure you, Anya, I am not losing focus,” she says quietly. “Please, allow me to handle this my own way. It is my life.”

“And the twelve lives of the previous Hedas,” Anya reminds her with a firm squeeze to Lexa’s arm. She retracts her hand and makes her way to the door. 

“I appreciate that you worry,” Lexa carefully starts, “but you have no need. I am Heda. I know what that means for me.” 

Anya quirks an eyebrow. “I am not worried, Lexa. Vulcans do not _worry_.” Lexa rolls her eyes and watches as the Vulcan steps through the doorframe. “One more thing,” she says, turning back to face the Commander. “I have already summoned Titus.” 

Before Lexa can start berating her, Anya is walking swiftly down the hallway, the door closing in her wake. Lexa groans and flops down onto the couch. Gustus climbs up and lies down, his furry head resting on her chest, his big brown eyes staring into her own. 

“Remind me to make Anya take all the night shifts in OPs for the next month,” she grumbles. Gustus whines and presses his nose to her chin. She grimaces and wipes at the wet spot he leaves behind. “You’re right,” Lexa says, petting his head, “making her run training drills for the ensigns would be much worse.”

 

* * *

_The command chair digs into Clarke’s spine. She stands up, pacing back and forth. Her uniform is still stained with ash, and Clarke picks at the blood under her fingernails. Her knuckles are bruised, and she can feel the cut above her eye throbbing, but she has a bridge crew who are looking at her for instruction._

_“Okay. Okay.” Her voice sounds like it is outside of her head. “Helm, continue en route to Tiobos VII. Warp 7. We need to get there as soon as possible, Starfleet has an outpost nearby that we can rendezvous with.” She turns to her left. “Comm, I need you to put out a message to Captain Kane. Don’t say anything explicit, but inform him of the situation as delicately as possible.” She turns to her right. “Lieutenant Armstrong, are the…is everything in order?”_

_The security officer nods. “The prisoners are secured, and there will be ‘round the clock security watching them.”_

_Clarke exhales and looks at the empty chair behind her. The hum of the ship beneath her feet is comforting, but she feels off-balance._

_“Okay people,” she says, her voice sounding so much more stable than she could have hoped, “we’ve had a…a terrible day. But we made it through. And we will continue to persevere. Just stay strong, focus on your duties, and I know that we will make it through any other obstacles the galaxy decides to throw at us.”_

_It isn’t a rousing speech. It isn’t inspiring. But Clarke doesn’t have it in her to be inspiring. She just wants this stupid day to be done with._

 

* * *

“Come on, Clarke, stop being such a stick in the mud and take the damn shot!” Octavia eggs Clarke on, bumping their shoulders together and tapping the table in front of her. 

“Remember in the academy days when Clarke could down an entire bottle of blood wine and still make it to her eight AM lectures on time?” Raven reminisced, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. 

“Remember when we turned twenty-five and you swore you’d never drink alcohol again?” Clarke shoots back, chin on the table, staring at the tequila in front of her with disdain. 

The three officers are lounging around Octavia’s quarters, after eating disgusting amounts of pizza and drinking their favourite earth beers. They made it a point to get together as often as they could over the years to have a night like this, reminiscent of the days they used to do this back at the academy.

Raven shrugs. “That was only the first of five days on Risa,” she says, “I think after we figured out the best cure to a hangover is just more alcohol, I changed my tune.” She slaps her hands on the table, startling Clarke off the table. “We didn’t even make you do the quarters trick tonight, the least you can do is take the damn shot.” 

Clarke laughs, “Yes, what a great favour you’ve granted me. I am so _blessed_ to have such great friends.” 

Octavia rolls her eyes and inches the shot closer to Clarke. “If you love us, you’ll take the shot.” 

“Good thing you both suck and I don’t love you,” Clarke counters. 

Raven dramatically grasps at her chest over her heart. “Clarke, quick, I think I’m having a heart attack,” she gasps, “I think…I think the only thing that can save me is if…if you take that shot of tequila _right now_!” 

“You two are ridiculous,” Clarke laughs. “Fine, fine, I’ll take the stupid shot.” Raven and Octavia cheer. Clarke picks up the shot glass, but Raven grabs her arm before she can drink it. 

“Wait, hold up,” she stalls, “O, get us some salt and some lime. We’re doing this the right way or we aren’t doing it at all.”

“I vote for not doing it at all,” Clarke groans as Octavia bounds over to the replicator, ordering up some salt and a slice of lime. Clarke huffs as Raven pours salt onto the back of her hand, and then holds up the lime. 

“Okay Clarke, let’s turn back time to the days of Party Girl Griffin!” Raven cheers. Octavia wolf-whistles, and Clarke takes a breath before licking up the salt, knocking back the shot, and sucking on the lime. She grimaces and makes a face as she drops the lime from her mouth onto the table.

“God I hate you two,” she wheezes. Octavia laughs and tackles Clarke in a hug, nearly knocking her onto the floor. 

 

* * *

_Lexa is well-versed in holding her emotions inside. She had received training from the best on Vulcan, and even though it’s been almost ten years since she started that training, Anya makes sure she practices her exercises daily._

_But she’s a fresh-faced cadet right now, she isn’t Heda, and this is a_ party _. Emotions are supposed to run a little rampant, and the alcohol pulsing through her system is making her tongue feel loose._

_And the beautiful girl standing by the stereo, sending her small smiles from across the room, is helping her feel just a little braver._

_“Go talk to her,” her Andorian classmate Talla encourages._

_Lexa turns and tries to look innocent. “Talk to whom?”_

_Talla rolls her eyes. “The girl who has been making moon eyes at you all night. And you’ve been making them right back.” She pushes Lexa forward a little. “Go on, oh mighty Heda, just go talk to her.”_

_“I don’t want to impose,” she tries to resist, but somehow she finds her feet taking her over tot the girl. Lexa stops in front of her and subtly wipes her hands on her pants, hoping they aren’t sweaty. She sticks her right hand out in front of her, and the girl looks at it. Lexa swallows nervously, retracting her hand. The girl in front of her smiles in an amused way, and Lexa flushes, wishing she could just_ say something _._

_“I am Heda.”_

_Okay,_ anything _would have been better than that._

_“Is that so?” The girl asks, the amused smile not falling from her face._

_Lexa starts to nod, but then shakes her head. “My name is Lexa,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even, “and I am afraid I have already made a fool of myself.”_

_The girl laughs and steps forward into Lexa’s space. “Nice to meet you, Lexa,” she answers. “I’m Costia.” Lexa holds her breath as Costia leans up to whisper in her ear, “Do you want to dance?”_

 

* * *

Lexa sits in Clarke’s quarters the following night, perched on the edge of the couch with her hands held together in her lap. She feels like all of her senses are on red alert, her posture stiff and nervous. 

“Sorry for the mess,” Clarke calls from where she’s changing in her bedroom, “I’ve been busy and haven’t had the time to clean.” 

Lexa thinks Clarke is lying, because she’s seen the state of her office in sickbay, but she holds her tongue. 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Clarke asks as she emerges in casual uniform, the blue jacket hanging open over a sleeveless black uniform shirt. 

Lexa swallows. “Water would be lovely, thank you, Clarke.” Clarke nods and pushes her sleeves up her arms, replicating a glass of water and a cup of herbal tea for herself. She collapses onto the couch beside the Commander and kicks her feet onto the coffee table, almost knocking a pile of journals to the ground. 

“I think I’m going to kill Murphy,” Clarke complains, blowing on her tea to cool it off. 

“Is he not performing his duties to your standard?” Lexa inquires, gripping her glass of water tensely in her hands. 

“No, he’s actually a shockingly good medic,” Clarke sighs, “he’s just so _annoying_.” She laughs a little at herself, and Lexa bows her head to hide her smile. 

“Did you ask me here to request a personnel change?” The Commander asks. “Because that can be much more easily relayed directly to Lieutenant Commander T’Al. She holds all final duty assignments.” 

Clarke shakes her head, hand over her mouth as she swallows the sip of tea she’d taken. She swallows it gingerly. “No, I figured this would be a more comfortable place to discuss the findings of the tests I ran yesterday,” she explains. “And I’ve been at sickbay since 0700 hours this morning, I needed to get out.” She offers Lexa a wry grin and sets her tea down on the coffee table. Lexa follows her example and puts down her untouched water. 

“I suppose it is not good news?” She asks, rolling her shoulders back. 

Clarke sighs and leans back into the couch. “Relax, Lexa,” she says nudging Lexa’s knee with her own, “you don’t have anything to worry about.” 

Lexa finds that hard to believe, since it would be illogical for Clarke to have called her to her quarters only to announce having found nothing. Then again, Clarke has been showing Lexa more and more illogical behaviours since they met. 

The Commander shifts back on the couch, leaning back slightly so her back is supported by the cushions. Her posture is still almost a perfect ninety degrees, but Lexa doesn’t think she can break that behaviour. 

“Physically, you’re in perfect condition,” Clarke begins, and Lexa hopes the flush of heat she feels rush to her cheeks is not visible. “You’re wishing excellent parameters for all aspects of physical health and fitness. And as far as I can tell, the symbiont is also totally fine. Totally happy where it is.” Lexa raises her eyebrows at Clarke’s small smile that creeps up as she talks about the symbiont. 

“Is there something amusing you?” Lexa asks. 

Clarke chuckles and looks at Lexa. “Well, with most of my patients, if I find worms in their bellies, I don’t care at all what condition the worms are in.” She tilts her head as Lexa fights off a smile. “Oh, come on, that was funny.”

“Must just be doctor humour,” Lexa says nonchalantly, trying to play off the smile as unamused, or indifferent. 

Clarke scoffs, “Sure, whatever you say, Commander.” They meet eyes and Lexa can’t stop the smile that reaches her eyes this time around. “Anyways, the thing is that I can’t find a single thing wrong with you.”

“And you called me here to tell me that?” Lexa asks a little incredulously. 

“I called you here because there’s obviously something wrong with you,” Clarke interjects, “but I can’t tell what it is.” She runs her hand through her hair and pushes it back from her face. “I think this may be psychological. And I’m not qualified as a psychologist, I’m barely even a neurologist, but I am a certified good listener.” She leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “I’m not saying you have to talk to me, but it might be helpful to just…just know you have someone who is willing to listen.” She offers a kind smile, and Lexa can’t look away. 

“I am not accustomed to that,” Lexa admits softly. 

“Accustomed to what?” 

Lexa answers the question quietly, looking at her hands. “Not being alone.”

She refuses to look at Clarke, in case she sees the pity she’s seen before in the faces of those who told her sadly that she had grown up too fast, that she was too old too soon. So she stares down at her hands, carefully controlling the emotions she can feel pushing to the surface. 

_Sadness. Isolation. Frustration._

Lexa learned to name her feelings long ago, in order to properly control them. Anya always taught her if she can name them before she allows them to surface, she will be able to control any emotion. 

A pressure on her hands makes her focus back on the present. Clarke’s hand has covered her own, and Lexa looks up at the doctor. Were they always sitting close enough that she can see the grey that mixes in with Clarke’s blue eyes? She isn’t sure, she doesn’t feel too sure of anything right now. 

“You know,” Clarke says quietly, her eyes soft, “it’s my professional medical opinion that being alone isn’t good for anyone.” 

Lexa breathes out a small laugh. “‘Professional medical opinion’?” 

“I went to medical school and everything,” Clarke reminds her with a squeeze of her hand and a smile. “Trust me, Lexa. We deserve more than loneliness.” 

Lexa looks at Clarke, and she feels like her heart is being pulled out through her mouth, stuck somewhere in her throat. “Maybe we do,” she responds breathily, and then she leans forward. 

Her hand slides up to cup Clarke’s jaw, her fingertips resting on her hairline delicately, and she tilts her head to the side. The first touch of their lips is light, soft, and Lexa feels like she’s falling off a cliff, her heart racing uncontrollably. She pulls away slightly when Clarke doesn't respond, but then Clarke is leaning forward, capturing her bottom lip between her own, and Lexa feels her heart skip a beat. Clarke is soft in her movements, her fingers linking with Lexa’s in her lap. Lexa presses further into Clarke, her nose bumping Clarke’s cheekbone. They kiss slowly, carefully, and Lexa hasn’t felt anything like this in years, the feeling of a beginning, of sharing herself with another person. She can taste the tea on Clarke’s breath, and the smell of her shampoo is invading her senses. Clarke’s lips slide smoothly against her own, and Lexa almost forgets to breathe as she feels a tug on her bottom lip. 

Lexa pulls back, tilting her head to the other side, her nose brushing Clarke’s and she leans in to kiss her again, eager to reinstate contact with Clarke’s lips. Are everyone’s lips this soft? Lexa doesn’t know, and she doesn’t care to find out, all she can think of as she leans in is that she wants to feel Clarke’s lips on hers again, for as long as she can. 

But just as their lips brush, Clarke pulls back, retracting her hand from Lexa’s and leaning back. Lexa quickly shifts away, dropping her hand from Clarke’s jaw like she’s been burned. Her gaze flits up and down from Clarke’s eyes to her lips, unsure of what to do or where to look. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Clarke stammers quietly. “I’m not…I’m not-“

Lexa cuts her off with a nod as she stands from the couch. “It’s alright, Clarke,” she says, trying to keep her voice even, holding back the flood of emotion she can feel pushing at her skin, her eyes, her lips. “I understand. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.” She walks to the door and pauses with her hand above the control panel. “Thank you for your help.”

“Lexa, wait-“ Clarke tries, but Lexa hits the open button and steps through the doorway. 

“Goodnight, doctor,” Lexa interrupts. Walking as quickly as she can without making a fool of herself, she strides down the corridor, hands clenched into fists at her side. She blinks rapidly, trying to clear her vision. 

_Embarrassment. Shame. Heartbroken._

She reaches her quarters and leans against the door as it closes. She tilts her head back and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, biting it as she looks up at the ceiling. She can’t help the feeling that she has just ruined the one good thing she had made on this station.

 

* * *

_Lexa lies in the dark, her heart pounding in her ears. Her chest heaves with the deep breaths she takes, and she smiles widely as Costia slides back up her body._

_“So the spots_ do _go all the way down,” Costia says with a cheeky grin, lying on her side next to Lexa. She brushes some stray hairs back from Lexa’s forehead, placing a kiss on her lips. Costia kisses like coffee, intense and with purpose. She does everything with purpose. Where Lexa is hesitant, Costia pushes forward. Where Lexa waits, calculates, Costia charges headfirst without thinking._

_“The great mystery of the spots has finally been solved,” Lexa confirms, “congratulations.”_

_Costia laughs her loud, passionate laugh. “You’re cute,” she says, pressing kisses to the side of Lexa’s face. Lexa blushes and turns her head so their lips meet. Costia’s teeth pull at her lower lip, and Lexa sighs into the kiss. Costia pulls back slowly, drawing out the kiss for as long as possible._

_“When do you have to leave?” Lexa asks, catching her breath from the kiss._

_“Not for another few days.” Costia lifts Lexa’s arm so she can snuggle up to her, pressing her nose to the spots on her neck._

_“I guess I ship out before you do, then,” Lexa comments. Costia lifts her head, brow furrowed in confusion._

_“What are you talking about?”_

_Lexa kisses her forehead. “I got called to duty onboard the_ Dauntless _. Did I not tell you?”_

_Costia sits up, the bedsheets pooling around her waist. “No, you didn’t tell me. When did you get those orders?”_

_Lexa props herself up on her elbows. “About a week ago? It was sudden, but I am…cautiously excited for it. It will be my first time onboard a Defiant class ship.” Costia frowns, and stands up, grabbing her clothing and puling it on. “What are you doing?” Lexa asks in confusion. She sits up, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed._

_“I’m leaving,” Costia says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy._

_Lexa almost laughs in disbelief. “Because I forgot to tell you I got commission?”_

_Costia sighs, “Yes, Lexa.”_

_“I do not understand.” Lexa stands and grabs her own clothes, pulling them on as Costia grabs her bag from near the door. “It was a simple mistake.”_

_“It isn’t a simple mistake!” Costia insists. “You always do this. You forget to include me in the important decisions you make, you forget to inform me of when you’re going to be assigned to a warship…you forget me, Lexa.” She sighs and stands at the door._

_Lexa grabs her by the hand. “I am sorry, Costia,” she apologizes. “It is not my intention to forget you. I don’t think I could ever forget you.” She steps forward and links their fingers. “But you know that I am bound to my duty. It interferes, forces it’s way into my life. You cannot fault me for that.”_

_Costia nods and steps forward, leaning her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “I know. I just…I love you, Lexa. It sucks that we’re going to be separated for who knows how long.”_

_Lexa nods and wraps her arms around Costia. “Yes, it does.” She presses a kiss to the mess of dark curls on Costia’s head. “But we can make it through this. Together.”_

 

* * *

Clarke doesn’t sleep. She keeps replaying the kiss over and over again, replaying LExa walking out, replaying that minute of her life. Somehow it feels like the most important minute. Like a crossroads, and she took a turn onto some poorly lit street. She tosses and turns all night.

When she reports to the senior officers’ briefing, Clarke quickly replicates herself a giant cup of coffee. She sits down in her usual seat next to Raven, grunting a good morning.

“You look like shit,” Raven comments, nursing her own hot raktajino. Clarke glares at her over the rim of her cup as she takes a tentative sip. It’s scalding hot, and she inhales a sharp breath as the tip of her tongue is burned. 

The doors slide open and Lexa strides in. There’s a pang in her chest, and a creeping feeling of guilt she can’t quite shake. Her heart starts to pound against her ribcage, and Clarke thinks Raven must be able to hear it from her seat next to her. She can’t help the way her eyes linger on the Commander, looking for any signs that maybe she slept as restlessly as Clarke did, or for any confirmation that last night really happened. But the Commander is immaculate. Her uniform is pressed and worn with her usual precision. Her hair is neatly braided back from her face, and her posture is flawless. She greets them all with a “good morning” and takes her seat at the head of the table. She briefs them on station recovery, officer wellness, the departure of the _Everest_ , and dismisses them within fifteen minutes. It’s the shortest briefing Clarke has ever attended. 

“Is it just me, or did the Commander seem more stone-faced than usual?” Raven mutters as they stand. 

Clarke feels her chest tighten, and her stomach sink. “I thought she seemed fine.” 

Raven shrugs and walks out of the briefing room, raktajino in hand. Clarke waits behind though, waiting patiently for a moment alone with Lexa. She feels an urge to explain herself, to right her wrongs, whatever those may be. 

She waits as Lexa talks in low voices with Indra, conferring over security reports. She waits for fifteen minutes, slowly sipping her coffee. She catches the way Lexa’s eyes flit over to her occasionally, always looking away quickly before Clarke can make any significant eye contact. 

Indra finishes her report, exiting the briefing room with only a glare for Clarke. Clarke resists rolling her eyes at the head of security’s predictable behaviour. But instead she opts to look at Lexa until the Trill decides to meet her eyes. 

“Is there something you need, doctor?” Lexa asks, unable to hold Clarke’s gaze. 

Clarke bites the bullet. “I think we need to talk about last night.” 

Lexa’s posture stiffens even more, if that’s even possible. “There is nothing to talk about. I was out of line. It was a mistake.” Clarke scoffs at that. 

“Don’t try to brush this off,” she says firmly. “Last night happened. It was real. What you feel, that’s real too.” She sighs and taps her fingers against her coffee mug. 

“I do not wish to discuss this,” Lexa says, standing abruptly. 

“Then just listen,” Clarke pushes, “I won’t force you to talk, but we work together. We have to trust each other, and I want to explain myself.” She gestures at the seat across from her. “Please, Lexa. Just sit.” 

Lexa looks at the chair like it’ll set her on fire if she touches it, but she complies, fixing her gaze out the window over Clarke’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for how I reacted,” Clarke begins. “It’s not that I don’t…I do…” Clarke trails off and laughs at herself. “I’m just not ready to…be with anyone.” She sobers up quickly, the smile slipping off her face. “I lost someone once. A few years ago, but I’m just not ready yet.” 

Lexa nods. “I understand.”

Clarke doesn’t think she does. “I’m not ready to be with anyone. Not…not _yet_.” She catches Lexa’s eye and narrows her eyes meaningfully. A small wave of understanding, or hope, crosses Lexa’s face, and she nods.

“Of course,” she says, standing slowly. “I am still sorry for having made you uncomfortable. It was not my intention. I do not know what came over me.” 

“Don’t apologize for feeling things, Lexa,” Clarke says quietly. “I’m not upset.”

Lexa nods again. “I must go, I am late for my inspection of OPs.” She spares Clarke one last glance, and then leaves her alone in the briefing room. Clarke looks down at her cup of coffee and sighs. 

“And now I get to go hang out with Murphy all day,” Clarke mumbles to herself. “This day sucks already.” 

 

* * *

_Commander’s log, personal, stardate 61861.4. Titus is only a week away from arriving. The voices that had quieted for a day or so are back in full force. I cannot make sense of them, for they all speak at once. I do not feel it appropriate to ask Dr. Griffin for anymore help. I fear I have made her uncomfortable. She says she is not upset, but I find that hard to believe. In any case, I must prepare for Titus’s arrival. He has always been a most…trying houseguest. I hope Anya enjoys her month of being stuck on training duty._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one, but I hope the length makes up for it. I'm still shaky on it, I might revisit it and edit some more, but for now I think it'll do. Thank you all for your kind words and kudos, you're all fantastic and I appreciate it all so much :)


	7. Stardates 61866.2 - 61870.7

_Commander’s log, stardate 61866.2. Today promises to be busy onboard the station. We are expecting a diplomatic team from Starfleet, as well as a convoy from the Coalition escorting Titus. Admiral Marcus Kane is leading the diplomatic team, and though I have only ever communicated with him through subspace, I look forward to this opportunity to meet in person. My senior staff has all been briefed, and the repairs to the main sections of the station have just only been completed. We will never be more ready than we are now to receive this eclectic group of visitors._

 

* * *

Clarke keeps herself busy all morning. She knows that as a member of the station’s senior staff she is probably expected to greet the station’s newest guests, but there’s no part of this job that she hates more than playing diplomat. She dismissed Murphy around 0900 hours, wanting some peace and quiet, and as much solitude as she can get before she’s forced out of hiding. 

She spends the morning working on some bacterial culture experiments she had been meaning to start for months. She hasn’t logged enough hours in the lab, and a doctor at her stage is expected to be publishing way more articles and research papers than she has ideas. 

By noon, her brain feels like it’s full of microbial nonsense, and she’s never been happier to be seated at a table in the mess hall, surrounded by the buzz of chatter from her fellow officers. She sips slowly at her coffee, reading from the latest medical journal she received from Starfleet Medical. She’s in the middle of an article about inoculation against Talaxian Blue Fever when someone clears their throat from the seat across from her. Clarke looks up, startled from her reading, and her eyes widen in shock.

“Mom?” She exclaims, lowering her tablet.

Dr. Abigail Griffin, Surgeon General of Starfleet Medical, Clarke’s mother, is sitting across from her with a tentative smile on her face.   
  
“Surprise?” Abby says hesitantly. Clarke quickly shakes off her surprise and stands up, Abby mirroring her movements and sweeping her daughter up into a giant hug. They hold each other for a moment, and Clarke feels her throat tighten up with unshed tears. She still smells like she did when Clarke was a young child, soft and comforting. Clarke buries her face in her shoulder, and she realizes it’s been over three years since she’d last seen her mother face to face. 

“Oh, Clarke, honey,” Abby says quietly, pulling back and rubbing her hands up and down Clarke’s biceps as the younger Dr. Griffin tries to subtly wipe away a few stray tears that have escaped. Clarke meets her mom’s eyes and they smile their similar, dampened smiles. “You’re so grown up.” 

Clarke smiles even more widely. “You saw me on subspace a few months ago, mom,” she says with a half-hearted roll of her eyes. 

“I know, I know,” Abby dismisses, “But look at you. Chief Medical Officer of an entire space station.” Abby brushes a stray lock of hair out of Clarke’s eyes. “And your hair is shorter than last time I saw you.” She leans in and kisses Clarke on the forehead. “My beautiful, beautiful girl.” 

Clarke wants to revert to her snarky teenage years, she wants to pretend she’s too old for this, for her mom fussing over her, but it’s like as soon as she saw her, Clarke felt like a kid again. It’s been a long month onboard the station, and at some point, everyone really does just need their mom. 

Abby pulls her into one more hug and then finally releases her. “Look at us,” Abby says with a small laugh, “a couple of saps.” She clears her throat and Clarke laughs with her for a moment. “Okay, I want to see your sickbay,” Abby claps her hands and rubs them together. 

“Follow me,” Clarke instructs. They walk in silence, and while it isn’t awkward, there is a certain sense of neither woman knowing quite what to say. As they pass the security office, Clarke points it out and Abby nods, maybe a little too vigorously for a such a simple thing, but neither of them mention it. 

They arrive at sickbay and Clarke finds herself defending her workspace almost immediately. 

“I was busy doing some microbial experiments this morning,” Clarke starts to ramble. “And I’ve been stuck with this random officer as an assistant, he keeps messing up my system every time he uses a tool.” She starts clearing stray tools, and she keeps an eye on Abby as the Surgeon General prowls around the medical bay. 

“I remember when I was first given control of an entire sickbay,” Abby reminisces. “I was only a few years older than you, I think. It was during the Klingon civil war. We were meant to be on a peacekeeping mission, but we were caught in crossfire.” Clarke nods along, pretending like she hasn’t heard this story a million times before. “Our chief medical officer was badly injured, and I was the next most experienced officer. I remember being so nervous, but so excited. My crew mates were being rushed in one after the other with injury after injury. I was on my feet for almost two straight days.” Abby smiles and runs a hand over one of the beds. She looks over at Clarke. “I am _so_ proud of you, Clarke.”

Clarke wishes it filled her chest with warmth, or made her toes tingle, or something, but instead she just feels a little sad. Because her mom was never that proud when she was on her way to becoming one of the youngest captains in Starfleet. She was _definitely_ not anywhere near proudwhen Clarke had harboured ambitions of becoming an artist somewhere on Bajor. But now, Dr. Abigail Griffin is proud of Dr. Clarke Griffin. So Clarke smiles a small smile, and mumbles a thank you.

Before Abby can open her mouth and start talking more about the golden days of her medical career, the sickbay doors slide open and Raven strolls in.

“I heard that my favourite Griffin was going to be onboard,” Raven greets Abby with a wide smile. Abby smiles back and opens her arms, enveloping Raven in a tight hug. 

“It’s good to see you, Raven,” Abby says, laughing as the engineer pulls back and plants a kiss Abby’s cheek. Clarke rolls her eyes at the smug face Raven sends her way. “Good to see you haven’t let deep space change you,” Abby adds, “although you look skinny. Are you eating enough?” Raven lets her fuss over her, plucking at the loose coveralls, arms tied at her waist. 

“Great job with proper uniform, Raven,” Clarke teases her. 

Raven grins, “I know how Abby likes mechanics.” 

Clarke groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Please tell me you aren’t still in love with my mom.” 

Abby walks over and rubs Clarke’s back as Raven waggles her eyebrows playfully. 

“Behave, you two,” Abby scolds, and Clarke feels sixteen all over again. “I have to go and attend a bunch more meetings this afternoon, but I expect you both to be at the dinner party this evening. Dress uniform.” She fixes them both with a pointed look, kisses the top of Clarke’s head, and leaves them in sickbay. 

“Why do you always flirt with my mom,” Clarke whines as Raven stretches out on a medical bed. 

“Because you hate it,” Raven answers simply, “and come on, your mom is a _total_ MIL-“

“Ew!” Clarke interrupts, covering her ears with her hands. “Stop, stop talking, never _ever_ say that about my mom ever again.” She sinks into her desk chair, kicking her feet up onto her desk. “She seems okay to you, yeah?” The question is tentative, hesitant.

“She seems really good,” Raven says, “and I’m not just saying that because I’m in love with her.” Clarke glares at her, and she clears her throat. “No, but seriously, Clarke, Abby seems really good. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile that much in the past eight years.” 

Clarke nods and bites her bottom lip in thought. There are so many questions flooding her mind right now, but she decides to stick with the one that’s going to cause both of them the least amount of distress. 

“What the hell dinner party was she talking about?”

 

* * *

_“This party blows,” Clarke whines over the blasting music._

_Raven rolls her eyes. “You think every party blows, Clarke.”_

_“That’s because every party_ does _blow,” Clarke counters, taking a sip of her warm beer. “Bad dancing, bad beer, and gross dudes trying to grab your ass.” She swats at the guy who just made a pass at Raven as she spoke, and flips him off as he retreats._

_“Maybe I want guys to grab my ass,” Raven argues, throwing a wave over her shoulder at some other guy. Clarke just huffs and frowns into her cup. “Come on, Clarke, stop being such a buzz kill.” Raven nudges her with her elbow. “We’ve only got a few more months left until we get our first assignments. Party while you still can.” She grabs Clarke’s hand and drags her in the direction of the music, the latter dragging her feet, but unable to keep the smile off her lips._

 

* * *

“I hate being in dress uniform,” Raven complains, “and what kind of party doesn’t have a keg?” 

Clarke takes a sip of her Ocampian wine, hiding her laughter as Raven fidgets and fusses with her uniform. “Stop twitching,” she scolds halfheartedly. 

“The collar is strangling me, Clarke,” Raven pouts, wheezing dramatically. Clarke raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. She watches as the Federation and Starfleet personnel mingle around her. She can see Bellamy chatting with a member of the Federation Council, a woman that Clarke remembers seeing time to time when she was a child. Sydney, maybe. Her mother is chatting with some dignitaries, and she can make out Anya’s stiff figure standing off to the side, watching everyone like a hawk. 

The one person she can’t find is the one person she’s pretending she isn’t looking for. 

“Okay, it may be a shitty party with no keg,” Raven interrupts the brief moment of silence, “but these lil’ fuckers are delicious.” Clarke watches with reserved disgust as Raven shoves about five Bajoran shrimp into her mouth. 

“You could at least pretend you have class, Reyes,” Bellamy says as he approaches them.

Clarke snorts, “You’re hoping for a miracle, Bell.” The two share a grin and Raven scowls through her mouthful of shrimp, mumbling something unintelligible. Clarke scrunches her nose in disgust and turns to face Bellamy. “Who were you schmoozing over there?” 

“Diana Sydney,” Bellamy answers, reaching past Clarke to grab a glass of champagne. “I was asking her about the Federation’s plan to send relief teams to the Lonar Province on Bajor. It’s flood season.” 

“Shouldn’t the Bajoran government be supplying relief teams?” Clarke asks. 

Bellamy laughs. “The Bajoran government doesn’t see the flooding of the homes of a few thousand people every thirty years to be worthy of their resources.” He takes a long sip of his champagne. “It sounds trivial, but the Lonar province only floods every thirty years, which means the people who live there are never properly prepared.” 

“And did she say anything?”

“She assured me that the situation was being ‘handled’,” Bellamy scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know what I expected, the Federation has been shortchanging Bajor since we joined.”

“First of all, you don’t know what she meant by that,” Clarke says, trying to calm the Major down before he causes a disruption. “And secondly, you weren’t even born until like, seventy years after Bajor joined the Federation, so you really aren’t the foremost expert on any of this.” Bellamy huffs and Clarke bumps him with her hip. “If you’re planning on making a scene, can I recommend that you wait until after this fancy party?” 

Bellamy grins and nods. “I’ll keep you posted.” They tap their glasses together and take a sip. As they lower their glasses in unison, the doors slide open and Clarke has to clench her jaw to keep it from dropping open. 

Lexa strides in with her usual posture, her usual air of regality, but somehow nothing about it seems usual. Her hair is out of it’s usual intricate braiding, instead falling about her shoulders. Parts of it are braided back, woven in with the rest of her hair seamlessly. The Starfleet dress uniform fits her in every way, but Clarke has never seen an all black uniform. Her rank is visible along the neck, comm badge in place, and the red and gold piping on the cuffs indicate rank and division. But hanging off her right shoulder is a long red cape, pooling to the floor behind her, flowing behind her as she walks into the room. Lexa’s eyes sweep over the room and Clarke feels her breath catch in her chest as they make brief eye contact, Lexa nodding ever so slightly at her. 

“Holy shit,” Raven whispers.

“I know,” Clarke breathes, trying to calm her racing heart rate, fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. 

“Why don’t _we_ get capes?” Raven continues, taking a sullen bite of some small pastry. Clarke looks over at Raven and her eyebrows knit together in mild disbelief. 

“Who’s that guy with her?” Bellamy asks, nudging Clarke and diverting her attention back to the Commander. 

Clarke hadn’t even noticed the bald man standing just behind Lexa. He’s wearing floor length brown robes, holding his hands together hidden in his sleeves. He follows Lexa through the room, never speaking or making a move to introduce himself. He holds his head tilted up, his gaze passing over everyone else. Once she sees him lean in and whisper something to Lexa, and Clarke hates the way she can see Lexa’s shoulders tense at the words. But she can’t watch this strange man for long, she can’t help the way her eyes keep sliding back to observe as Lexa interacts with all these high-up Starfleet and Federation members. 

“She’s kind of awe-inspiring, isn't she?” Bellamy comments, nodding in Lexa’s direction. Clarke flushes.

“I guess?” She tried not to splutter it, trying to seem casual and taking a long drink of wine, draining her glass. 

“I think she’s a bitch,” Raven shrugs. “The other day, I was trying to run diagnostics on the upper sensor array, and when I finally finished _and_ repaired the fourteen malfunctions I found, she told me that my work was ‘slow’ and ‘of acceptable quality’.” Raven huffs and eats another piece of shrimp. 

“Well, _was_ your work slow and of acceptable quality?” Clarke asks, grabbing another glass of wine from the table behind her. 

Raven laughs, throwing a hand in the air incredulously. “You _know_ my work is always efficient and of above-average quality!” 

“She pushes her officers to be the best,” Bellamy interjects, “I watched her run a training simulation with some ensigns the other day, and by the end of it, every single one of them was hitting their marks with almost ninety percent more accuracy than at the beginning of the simulation.” 

Clarke nods. “I think she’s a great leader,” she defends, “and I think you’re just bitter she doesn’t worship the ground you walk on like most people tend to do.” 

Raven opens her mouth to argue, but the chiming of a knife on glass calls their attention to the front of the room. 

Lexa stands in front of the windows, holding a glass and surveying the room. The bald man stands off to her left, his eyes narrowed. 

“Welcome, all,” Lexa begins, her voice ringing clear and true. “I hope you have all had the opportunity to enjoy the festivities tonight. It is a rare occasion that we receive such distinguished guests. I promise, I will ask only a few moments of your time to be spent listening to me ramble on.” She allows for the crowd to chuckle a little. “Tonight marks the beginning of negotiations with our guest of honour, Prince Roan of Azgeda.” As she speaks, the alien in question steps through the far doors, and Clarke almost laughs at the drama of it all. “With his cooperation, the Federation will be able to initiate contact with his people, and hopefully help us bring through an era of new diplomatic relationships.” A small round of polite applause scatters through the room. 

“But that is tomorrow’s task,” Lexa continues. “For now, in the words of an old earth adage; eat, drink, and be merry.” Lexa raises her glass and everyone follows suit, saluting a toast. Clarke bites her lip as she watches Lexa descend from the small platform. The commander always looks regal, like a natural leader, but tonight she seems to part the crowd with the mere possibility of her presence. Clarke is vaguely aware of her friends talking, but her attention is taken by watching Lexa make the rounds of the room, talking with officials and sipping carefully from a champagne flute. 

The night wears on, the crowd never thinning, only growing louder as the drinks continue to flow. Clarke is glad for the relative comfort of the couch in the corner of the room, providing her with enough isolation that she can try to steady the spinning of her head. There may have been a little too much free-flowing wine. 

Someone settles onto the couch next to the doctor, bringing with them two glasses of water. Clarke looks over and sees Lexa offering her the water. She accepts it with a small smile, taking a long sip. 

“These events are exhausting,” Lexa sighs, “I believe I have made pointless small talk with over twenty different Federation officials about the importance of developing warp technology.”

Clarke laughs and looks over at the Trill. “I used to attend these parties all the time when I was a kid,” she adds with a shrug. “But I never had to talk about warp technology. Mostly just how _nice_ it was to be growing up in space, to be a child on the frontiers of exploration.” 

“Was it?” Lexa asks, leaning in almost imperceptibly. 

Clarke swallows and looks back out at the room. “I think that it gave me certain perspectives on life.” Lexa is silent, but Clarke can feel her waiting for an explanation, like a current in the air. “I never saw any possibility for my life apart from joining Starfleet,” Clarke continues with a wry grin. “I didn’t even _realize_ that people could do something like…like be a musician, or be a shopkeeper, until I was almost fourteen.” 

Lexa’s hand finds purchase on Clarke’s thigh for a moment, before it quickly retracts with a cough from the Commander. “When I was three years old, I showed a proficient sense of strategy,” Lexa says, “and a representative from the Coalition saw me arrange my toys in some way that he recognized as ‘intelligent’.” Lexa lets out a small laugh. “So I was taken to train. I was always told how special I was for being selected. I thought being Heda was a privilege.” Her jaw clamps shut and Clarke follows her gaze to the bald man standing across the room, his eyes watching them carefully. 

Clarke shifts on the couch, angling her body towards Lexa, drawing her eyes and attention back to her. “I wanted to be an artist for a year.” The admission hangs between them, and Clarke thinks it only feels so heavy to her because of everything else that it represents, the disappointment and shame she was forced to feel because of it all those years ago. 

“I do not think I have ever made a single piece of artwork in my life,” Lexa admits quietly, and Clarke tries hard to ignore how Lexa’s eyes flit between her eyes and her lips. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, and Clarke wishes she could say that it was totally unintentional, but a part of her revels in how Lexa’s eyes linger. 

“Art isn’t always the obvious stuff like paintings and songs,” Clarke says. “Sometimes art is something as simple as…as a log entry, or the way you arrange food on your plate.” Clarke doesn’t know when they got close enough for her to be able to detect the faint smell of pine that drifts from the Commander, but her head feels heavy and she had to take another sip of water. 

“I do not believe that the fashion in which I place my eggs in the morning can really be considered art,” Lexa says with a quirked eyebrow. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.” She forces her gaze to stay steady with Lexa’s eyes. “Art is in the small things as much as the large, obvious things.” 

“I will be sure to be much more attentive to how I serve myself breakfast in the mornings,” Lexa sasses back. Clarke bumps their elbows together and a small laugh slips through the Commander’s lips. 

“You’re just being difficult,” Clarke states, drinking more water. 

Lexa matches her sip, shrugging her shoulders in mock innocence. “I assure you, I have no idea what you mean.” 

Clarke’s rebuttal is interrupted by the intrusion of a deep voice. 

“Heda, it is time we should retire.”

Clarke looks up and is met with the stone cold stare of the bald man who has been following Lexa all night. 

“You may leave if you so desire, Titus,” Lexa replies, her posture tightening. “I will remain.” 

Clarke takes a sip.

“You have many duties to attend to tomorrow,” the man named Titus insists. “It is not only your duty to Starfleet that will keep you occupied.” 

“I am Heda, I understand my duties,” Lexa grits through her teeth. “Leave us, Titus. I shall see you in the morning.” 

Clarke takes another sip, and avoids the glare that is sent her way by Titus. She almost expects more resistance, but the man nods respectfully and backs away, leaving them and the room full of party-goers behind. 

“He seems nice,” Clarke says, hoping her sarcasm isn't too obvious. Actually, she hopes it drips off every syllable and into Lexa’s ears, but that isn’t the polite thing to be thinking.

“Titus is a loyal member of the Coalition,” Lexa states, and it sounds like one of those things someone has said so many times it loses meaning. 

“What _is_ this Coalition you keep mentioning?” Clarke asks, her curiosity taking hold. 

Lexa’s eyes scan the room. “This is not the best place to be discussing these matters,” she says. 

Clarke scoffs, “You don’t trust me?” 

“I do trust you, Clarke,” Lexa replies softly, “but I do not wish to compromise my position.” Her yes dart around the room once more. “We may continue this discussion another time.” Lexa stands and Clarke follows her, sightly unsteady on her feet, briefly bracing herself on the Commander’s arm. 

“Soon?” Clarke asks, her eyes insistent. 

“Soon,” Lexa confirms with a promise in her eyes. “But for now I must leave you. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Clarke.”

“You too, Lexa,” Clarke says, watching as Lexa walks away and blends with the crowd. 

Except that she doesn’t blend. She stands out like a flame in the night, her red cape drawing attention, but it’s more than that. She commands attention, her entire poise and persona force Clarke’s eyes to follow, to linger. Clarke tries hard to convince herself that the flipping in her stomach is due to a bad shrimp, or too much wine, but she isn’t fooling herself. 

 

* * *

 

_“And just when you thought it couldn’t get any gayer…it does.”_

_Raven gasps and drops her body onto the girl below her to try and cover her up.  
  
“The sock on the door means _ I’m busy _, Clarke,” Raven scolds, scrabbling to pull the sheet up over her bare body._

_Clarke laughs and drops her bag by her bed, kicking off her shoes and collapsing into her desk chair. “I have a million things to study for, Raven,” she says, “I don’t really have time to let you entertain…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” She looks expectantly at the blushing girl beneath Raven._

_“Uh, Octavia,” she says._

_Clarke smiles. “Nice to meet you Octavia. I’d shake your hand but I know where it’s been.” Octavia smiles back weakly, and Raven groans._

_“Clarke, could you give us a second?” Raven asks, and Clarke raises her hands in submission and turns her back. There’s a rustling of sheets, some mumbled words, and then Clarke feels a hand tap her shoulder._

_“Yes?”_

_“Sorry, but I think my bra landed under the desk,” Octavia says sheepishly. Clarke looks underneath the desk and sees the offending piece of clothing. Except that it’s actually a really nice bra._

_“That’s a nice bra,” Clarke says, handing it to Octavia over her shoulder._

_“Thanks,” the girl answers._

_Raven appears behind them and Clarke takes her presence as an ‘okay’ to turn around. She finally gets a good look at Octavia’s face, noticing the ridges on her nose that clearly identify her as Bajoran. She looks around Clarke’s age, maybe a few years younger, and Clarke is almost jealous of Raven. Octavia is ridiculously pretty._

_“Listen, I feel really bad about this,” the Bajoran girl continues, “could I treat you guys to drinks?” She pulls her shirt on over her head and surfaces with a smile. “I swear I don’t normally make it a habit to go around flashing people’s roommates.”_

_“If it makes you feel any better, I doubt Clarke minded all that much,” Raven shrugs, her hand brushing up against Octavia’s arm. Clarke kicks Raven in the shin and forces out an awkward smile. Octavia laughs, bumping Raven with her shoulder._

_“Come on, one drink so I don’t feel bad about this for the rest of the week,” she insists._

_Clarke and Raven exchange a glance and a small shrug._

_“We’d love to.”_

 

* * *

Clarke has never hated Octavia more than she does in this moment, running on a treadmill and trying to keep her breath under control. 

“How do I keep letting you talk me into working out?” Clarke gasps, wheezing as the speed on the treadmill picks up. 

Octavia grins. “Because you love me,” she says simply, “and because you know that exercise is a highly important part of any healthy lifestyle.” Clarke tries to laugh but it mostly comes out as a painful wheeze. She hits the stop button, letting the treadmill slowly reduce the pace, coming to a slow walk. 

“I hate you,” she huffs, clutching at a cramp in her side. Octavia just rolls her eyes and keeps running at the steady pace she’s been keeping for the past half hour. Clarke steps off the treadmill and goes to a bench, lying down on it with her limbs hanging off it very ungracefully. She lets her eyes drift shut, her legs hanging heavy. 

“Are you considered strong for a human?” A deep voice rumbles from above her. Clarke cracks her eyes open and is met with the face of Roan staring down at her. 

“I don’t think I’m considered strong on any world,” Clarke groans, forcing herself to sit up. “Can I help you with something?” 

Roan looks around at the few people who are exercising and nods his head over to the water cooler in the corner. Clarke sighs and pushes herself to her feet, following him and accepting the small cup of water he offers her. 

“You have the Commander’s ear,” he states quietly, simply. Clarke raises her eyebrows and leans against the wall. “I need you to make her listen to reason.” He shoots a nervous look over his shoulder. No one is paying them any attention. “What do you know of the Coalition?” 

Clarke crushes the empty paper cup in her hand and tosses it into the nearby trash can maybe a little too hard. “It’s been popping up in conversation the past few days,” she says bitterly, “and it’s never been followed by any sort of explanation.” 

“Last night I was confronted by the priest,” Roan begins, his voice quiet and urgent. “He spent an hour trying to convince me to join him, to work to bring my people into the Coalition. He explained it as a unification of the galaxy’s people under one strong leader.” Clarke feels her stomach twist at the words. “Now, I’m pretty new to these politics, but I don’t think that a Starfleet officer should be leading an opposing force.” 

Clarke furrows her brow and she tries to quantify what she’s been told. “You’re saying that Lexa is what, a leader of some cult that is looking to take over the galaxy?” She laughs at the incredulity of it all. “You _do_ realize how insane that sounds, right?” Clarke pushes off the wall and walks away from him, shaking her head. Roan follows her.

“I only know what I’ve been told,” he says, but he persists, “and what I’ve been told is quite unsettling. How do you think Starfleet would feel about their prodigal deep space commander leading a galactic coup?” Clarke rolls her eyes and stops, turning to face the alien man. 

“Firstly, you sound like a lunatic conspiracy theorist,” Clarke starts, her voice slipping low and intimidating. “Secondly, what you’re suggesting is _extremely_ serious. It’s essentially accusing _my_ commanding officer of treason, and as a Starfleet officer, I can’t ignore that.” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, tugging at the ponytail she’d wrangled it into before meeting up with Octavia. “You’re putting me in a _very_ uncomfortable position, Roan of Azgeda.” 

Roan narrows his eyes at her. “Don’t let your affection blind you, doctor.” He waits until she meets his gaze, and inclines his head. “A pretty face does not assure a pretty soul.”

“Is that some wisdom from your culture?” Clarke snarks, hoping the heat she feels in her cheeks is invisible to the man standing opposite her. 

Roan’s lips lift into a twisted grin. “It doesn’t take a wise man to see how you feel,” he says, “and it would only be a fool who doesn’t take advantage of that.” With that, he strides past her and leaves the gym, Clarke frozen to the ground. 

A hand touches her shoulder and she starts, whipping around to face its owner. Octavia is looking at her with concern etched into all her features.

“What was that about?” She asks, slightly out of breath and wiping sweat from her forehead.

Clarke takes a deep breath and places a hand over her racing heart. “It’s nothing,” she assures her friend, “don’t worry about it.” 

It’s easy to see that Octavia doesn’t believe a word of it, but she just shrugs and says, “If you say so,” going and grabbing their bags from the cubbies. “Come on, I’ve got to report to OPs in half an hour and I smell like a Cardassian.” Clarke cracks a small smile and takes her bag from Octavia’s outstretched hand. 

 

* * *

Clarke watches as Marcus Kane pours himself a glass of water. He’s a kind looking man, with a well-kept beard and intelligent eyes. The beard is new since the last time Clarke saw him, and she thinks it looks nice, giving the impression of an old-Earth sea captain, worn and wisened from his many voyages. 

“Doctor Clarke Griffin,” he says with a smile, shaking his head fondly. “You know, when I first heard you were transferring into Starfleet Medical, I was ready to file a formal protest.” Clarke presses her lips together and her head hangs. “But you seem well, Clarke.” He sighs and sits down next to her. His next words are quiet. “Last time I saw you, things were…very different.” 

Clarke nods, pursing her lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch,” she says, quietly ashamed. 

“It’s fine, Clarke,” he assures her, but she’s been carrying so much guilt for so long and seeing her old captain is pulling at every memory she’s buried. 

“It isn’t fine,” she insists, “we all suffered trauma during those days, we all went through the same things. And I ran away instead of facing those problems.” She leans her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. “I was in charge of your ship, and I failed you. I am so sorry.” She takes a shuddering breath and squeezes her eyes shut. 

“You didn’t fail anyone,” Kane says softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You were a captain that day. You made the right decisions, you made _all_ the right and terrible decisions that were forced upon you.” Clarke looks up and tries for a watery smile, searching for comfort in the familiar eyes that speak reassurances. 

“Does it ever get easier, or go away?” She asks, clasping her hands together. At the quizzical furrow of Kane’s brow, she clarifies, “The guilt.”

He laughs softly and scratches at his beard. “No, no it doesn’t go away,” he heaves with a great sigh, “but it’s like any great loss. With time, you think about it less and less, until the pain is like an occasional jab, instead of the constant hurt you’re feeling now.” Clarke watches as his eyes gloss over and stare into some great distance. He blinks a few times in rapid succession and gives her a sad smile. “People rarely think about the burdens that command brings. There are a million decisions to make, a hundred people to please and disappoint, and the paperwork never ends.” They both laugh at that, and Kane squeezes her shoulder. “You aren’t the first person to feel this way, and you won’t be the last. You aren’t alone, Clarke. There’s no reason for you to carry this all by yourself. I’m always just a subspace call away, and you’ve got your mother and your friends.”

Clarke’s heart squeezes at the words that sound so similar to what she told Lexa all those nights ago. 

“Your father would be so proud of you, Clarke.”

Kane’s words wash over her like a warm burst of sunlight, and she sniffs back a tear. “I don’t think I’ve done anything worth that,” she mumbles. 

“Jake was probably the most compassionate and understanding man I had the privilege of knowing,” Kane says. “He would be proud of you no matter what, because he loved you. He once spent an hour on subspace telling me about how you’d drawn the most beautiful rainbow on the walls of your family’s quarters. I think you were around two years old.” Kane chuckles and Clarke smiles. “You’ve grown into a strong, independent, and admirable young woman. How could any father not be proud of that?” 

* * *

 

 

It’s the fourth day of talks with Roan, and she is finding it more and more difficult each day to maintain any interest. He’s an outcast from planet, of no diplomatic use. She can see that he’s clever enough to know that Starfleet won’t kick him off the station if they think his life in danger, and he’s using that to his full advantage. 

The talks conclude that day by 1700 hours, and Lexa rises from her chair, stretching out her back. Beside her, Abigail Griffin gathers her things and falls into step with the Vulcan Federation ambassador Sitiv. Lexa hasn’t had the time to formally introduce herself to Clarke’s mother, and she thinks the nerves she feels at the thought of that task aren’t exactly professional. 

Titus appears at her side almost immediately, and Lexa clenches her teeth in annoyance. Ever since he’s arrived, Titus has been constantly at her side, giving her almost no privacy or time to herself. The moment she managed to steal with Clarke at the party is on a loop in her head when her thoughts wander from her duties. 

“Heda,” Titus greets, his head bowed respectfully, “it is time for your combat practice with Indra.” 

Titus has also taken it upon himself to rearrange Lexa’s entire schedule for her. It is perhaps the most infuriating thing he’s done. 

“I haven’t trained with Indra since I was a cadet,” she says, brushing past him and through the door. He follows, always staying a step behind. “I have spent the entire day in pointless meetings, and I have already made arrangements for this evening.” She can see the way Titus clenches his jaw and grits his teeth. But he bows and stops following her, and she feels like she can take a breath for the first time all day. As she makes her way to the mess hall, Lexa tries to clear her mind and allow herself a few minutes of peace. The comforting hum of the station around her helps calm her mind, and she leans against the wall of the turbo lift as it whisks her to the boardwalk. 

When she steps out of the lift, Lexa takes a left. It’s the longer way around, but it passes by sickbay. She feels like a child, hoping for a glimpse of what she can’t have at the end of an exhausting day. Holding her hands behind her back, she angles her chin upwards and steps into the medical bay. 

A ball soars past the tip of her nose and she stutter-steps back. 

“Oh crap,” a male voice says, “sorry, Commander.” It’s Junior Lieutenant John Murphy, and Lexa narrows her eyes at him. He looks as slimy as the last time she saw him, hair slicked back with too much grease, his face stuck in a sneer. For what it’s worth, he does look a little scared of her, and Lexa has to contain the smug smile that threatens to spread across her face. 

“Mr. Murphy,” Lexa greets him coolly, “is Dr. Griffin in?” Murphy points across the room where the ball had gone sailing, and Lexa can’t stop the smile that comes unbidden. Clarke is sitting in her desk chair, feet propped up on the desk, holding the ball to her chest. The doctor has a sheepish grin on her lips, and Lexa feels her heart stutter in her chest.   


“Hi,” Clarke says. 

“Hello, Clarke.” Lexa’s stomach turns, and her palms start to sweat. “I was…dinner.” She clears her throat and pulls her lips into her mouth for a second. Clarke raises her eyebrows expectantly, but not unkindly. She waits quietly, and Lexa can see the mirth in her eyes as she watches her commanding officer choke on her words. “I was going to dinner. In the mess hall.” Lexa twists her hands together behind her back. “Would you…like to join me?” 

Something flashes across Clarke’s face, and she puts the ball down on the desk, lowering her feet to the floor, standing. She takes a step towards Lexa, and the Trill takes a shallow breath, her chest tightening. 

Clarke casts a look over at the other officer in the room. “Murphy, you’re dismissed. It’s not like you’ve done anything useful all day.” Clarke watches as Murphy gives her a lazy salute, and then redirects her gaze to Lexa when he leaves, the doors sliding shut behind him. 

Now that it’s just the two of them, Lexa’s heart is pounding in her ears, her uniform feels too tight, and she can’t settle her gaze anywhere. 

“You owe me an explanation,” Clarke says, startling Lexa out of her cocoon of nerves. “I was approached by Roan the other day, and he made some…accusations.” Lexa nods, trying to look more put together than she feels. 

“You may ask me anything, Clarke,” she says quietly. Clarke’s eyes search out her own, but Lexa fixes her gaze over the doctor’s shoulder. It only lasts a moment, however, and Lexa’s eyes are unwittingly drawn back to Clarke’s, like a magnetic pull. 

“You’re the leader of this Coalition,” Clarke starts, “and the Coalition is a…a what, Lexa? Because from what I’ve been hearing, it’s essentially a galactic unification mission that looks to rival the Federation.” Clarke huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. She doesn’t say anything else, and Lexa knows this is her cue to speak.

“It is not that simple, Clarke,” she says. “Yes, the Coalition does seek the unification of cultures, but it is not a conquering force.” _Not anymore_ , Lexa thinks, but keeps that to herself. “I have no intention of going to war with the Federation. I am a Starfleet officer.” 

That should be enough, but Clarke just twists her lips and narrows her eyes. “Can you explain why that bald priest man who has been following you offered Roan a deal behind the Federation’s back?” 

Lexa’s surprise hits her in the chest like a small electric pulse. She keeps her features schooled into impassivity, but on the inside her mind is racing a mile a minute. “Titus does not always follow my orders,” she says calmly. “He is my subject, but he is not without independence.” Lexa takes a step towards Clarke, hoping to ease the tension that is obvious throughout the doctor’s stance. “If Titus made advances without my knowing, I promise he will be dealt with accordingly.” 

“‘Dealt with accordingly’?” Clarks asks. “What, are you going to beat him?” Lexa’s eyes narrow slightly, and her brow pulls together. 

“Is that what you think of me?” Lexa asks quietly, but she makes sure her voice betrays no weakness. 

Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know what to think.”

Lexa feels completely blindsided. This entire conversation feels like it’s coming out of nowhere, but Lexa can only assume that Clarke has been ruminating over this for days. 

“I have no intention to do anything but follow the orders Starfleet has given me,” Lexa tries again. She takes another tentative step forward and brings her hands to her sides. “What do I need to do to convince you of that?” 

Clarke’s surprise is written all over her face. Lexa tries to keep her own expression open, trusting, trying to let Clarke know how serious she is. 

“I need information,” the doctor says finally. “I can’t trust you if you’re keeping secrets from the crew.” 

“The crew is not to be made privy to the information I give you,” Lexa says firmly. “I promise to make sure you know everything you need to, but you will be required to keep it to yourself. My culture is not a threat, Clarke, to you or anyone on this station. But it is also not a source of entertainment. It is sacred.” Her voice is quiet by the end, and she hates how her feet had carried her, unbidden, closer to Clarke. The doctor is easily within arm’s reach, but Lexa has never felt so far away. 

There is a minute of deliberation, and Lexa watches as Clarke thinks it all over, turning every possibility over in her mind, weighing every option. Her nerves grow with each passing second, and she tightens her jaw. 

Finally, Clarke nods. “Okay. I understand.” Lexa’s entire body seems to sigh inwardly with relief. “But if I find anything that even _looks_ like a threat to the Federation, I will have to act on my duty to Starfleet.” She gives Lexa a warning look.

“Do you not think that I would have done the same if the situation had arisen?” Lexa asks. “I, too, am an officer in Starfleet. I value duty above all else, Clarke, that is how I was trained.” 

Clarke nods and a small smile creeps onto her lips. Lexa’s eyes are drawn to it, remembering the feeling of those lips against hers, and she digs her fingernails into her palms. 

“I’m getting dinner with Raven and Octavia in the mess,” Clarke says, “you should join us.” 

Lexa still feels off balance, like Clarke is just hiding her frustration under a façade. “There is nothing I place above my duties, Clarke.” The words sound robotic, but they ring true. She feels Clarke’s hand slip into hers and give it a squeeze. 

“I know,” she reassures. She drops Lexa’s hand and clears her throat. “Come on, we can grab a good table if we go now. There’s no way I’m sitting near the engineering ensigns again.” Lexa nods and allows Clarke to walk by her, falling into step beside her as they exit the sickbay. 

Lexa has never eaten a meal in the mess hall before, and she tells Clarke as much as they sit down at a table on the second level. Clarke smiles, shaking her head in a way that Lexa (maybe wishfully) thinks might be fondly, and sits beside her, showing her the ropes of the table replicators. Lexa’s heart shines when Clarke laughs at her fumbling with the menu. Lexa can feel Clarke’s body heat, and she bites her lip when their elbows knock together accidentally. The air feel heavy, like a warm and comforting blanket, and Lexa feels at peace when Clarke teases her for drinking a tall glass of cranberry juice for dinner. 

“Cranberries are very good for you,” Lexa defends, “unlike your…what did you call that?”

“Coke,” Clarke clarifies, “it’s a drink older than space travel itself.” She winks at Lexa and takes a sip. Lexa likes this Clarke - she likes every Clarke, but this Clarke, free from worrying about duty, making easy jokes and smiling with more freedom than Lexa could allow for herself. But this Clarke pulls at the edges of Lexa’s composure, teasing smiles onto her lips and lightness to her eyes. 

Lexa opens her mouth to say something, anything, but she is interrupted by the arrival of Raven Reyes and Blake Octavia. 

They all exchange polite greetings, and Lexa doesn’t notice the looks the two officers shoot Clarke, obviously confused as to why their friend has brought their commanding officer to a casual dinner. Lexa focuses her attention on her glass of juice. Their conversation flows easily, and she nods and makes the appropriate comments at the appropriate times, but she never engages fully in the conversation. 

Until something catches her attention. 

“Have you met Harper, Clarke?” Raven asks. 

Clarke shakes her head, “Not other than the routine exam I had to run for everyone.” 

“She’s cute,” Octavia comments, but not in a way that suggests any of this is a random conversation topic. “I heard she thinks you’re pretty cute, too.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Guys, come on,” she says, almost whining, “can we not just have dinner?” Lexa thinks she imagines the brief, meaningful look that Clarke shoots in her direction, but maybe it’s real. 

She definitely doesn’t imagine the way Raven looks at her, calculating and suspicious. Lexa takes a nervous sip of her drink. 

She’s not used to this. Not at all. Her legs itch to stand and leave, return to her quarters and the safety behind their walls, where no one can look at her and try to read her. But the way Clarke’s knee bumps hers under the table locks her legs in place. 

The conversation fades out of Lexa’s interest again, and she instead focuses on the pile of pasta on the plate in front of her. She makes it through half of the serving before her attention is called back to the people in front of her. 

“Commander, have you ever been on a ship that can exceed warp 10?” Octavia is asking her, and Lexa nods, covering her mouth as she swallows a mouthful of food. 

“I served onboard an exploratory vessel for two years,” Lexa answers, “the _Odyssey_. Small, built for fast recon missions during the B’omar - Romulun conflict. My duty came after the war, so we mostly made trips to deep space in order to collect scientific data.” 

“Did you ever feel like you’d left your stomach behind you when traveling at maximum warp?” Octavia continues to inquire, her curiosity seeming insatiable, like a child. 

Lexa’s eyebrows raise at the question. “No, I am afraid my stomach always remained where it was meant to.” Octavia seems disappointed at this answer.

“When I was on duty onboard the _Nzinga_ , we reached warp 11.3,” Raven pipes in, her face smug. “I remember thinking that the whole ship was going to rip itself apart and take us along with it.” She leans back in her chair and drapes an arm across the back of Octavia’s, her fingers lightly tapping the Bajoran’s shoulder. 

“Let me guess - you worked some engineering magic and held the whole ship together yourself?” Clarke says with an eye-roll, making eye-contact with Lexa that makes her think that Clarke has heard this story many times before. 

“Damn straight, doc,” Raven smirks. “Managed to hold the ship together by the seams and ushered in a whole new era of hull tech.” Octavia laughs at that, poking Raven in the side and eliciting a small squeak from the engineer. “Okay, so maybe it was a team effort, _but_ it was my idea.” 

Lexa smiles, not at Raven or her story, but at the carefree smile that has taken over Clarke’s face, allowing her a degree of calm that Lexa has seen only in rare, stolen moments. Lexa quickly eats another mouthful of pasta to hide the warmth that grows inside her chest. 

“ _Lieutenant Commander T’Al to Heda_.” Anya’s voice cuts through the atmosphere of peace that Lexa has managed to cultivate, and her posture straightens automatically. 

“Go ahead, Anya,” Lexa answers after tapping her comm badge, sending her companions an apologetic glance before standing and pacing to a quieter corner. She tries to ignore the holes that Clarke’s eyes are burning through the back of her uniform.

“ _We are receiving a transmission from the leader of the Azgeda_ ,” Anya says. “ _Report to OPs as quickly as possible_.” 

“Acknowledged.” Lexa looks back at her officers who are watching her with varying levels of concern. “Heda out.” 

 

* * *

_“Do you ever think about the future?” Finn asks, his lips brushing against Clarke’s temple as he speaks. Clarke tilts her head up and their noses bump together._

_“Sure,” she answers, “just as much as the next person.” She presses a light kiss to his lips, and scratches his bare shoulder lightly with her fingernails._

_“What kind of stuff do you think about?” He prompts again, his hand coming up to brush back the stray hairs that cling to her forehead with a light sheen of sweat._

_Clarke sighs, pulling back slightly and falling to lie on her back. “I don't know,” she huffs, “promotions, what I’m going to have for breakfast, whether or not we’re going to get the four-hundred and sixty-second season of Grey’s Anatomy.” She’s deflecting, trying to make this conversation lighter and avoid what she thinks Finn is hinting at._

_“That’s it?” Finn asks, rolling onto his side to face her._

_“What more is there?” Clarke defends, sitting up and pulling her hair back into a messy bun. “My career comes first right now, you know that. We’re serving on a peacekeeping ship that goes into hostile territories. I don’t think we can afford to think too far ahead.” She stands, grabbing her shirt and a pair of Finn’s boxers from the floor._

_“What’s the point of living if you don’t plan for the future?” Finn leans up on his elbows, watching as she replicates herself a cup of coffee._

_“Isn’t it enough to just live in the moment?” She counters, walking to the window and staring out at the dark space that flies by._

_Finn sits up. “I love you, Clarke, but that sounds like a load of shit,” he calls her out, his voice edging away from gentle. She hears the sheets rustle and she hears him walk over to her, his bare feet making little sound on the carpeted floor. His arms wrap around her waist from behind, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. “You’ve been living day to day for years, love. Maybe it’s time to change that.”_

_Clarke wriggles out of his grasp and fixes him with a glare. “You don’t get to tell me how to live my life,” she hisses. “You are my boyfriend, but that doesn’t give you some sort of right to butt in and try to control me.”_

_Finn sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“_

_“Yes, you did,” Clarke interrupts him. “I have to report to the bridge in an hour. Just…can you just leave this alone, please?”_

_Finn nods and runs a chastised hand through his hair. Clarke places a quick kiss on his cheek, mumbles a small “thank you” into his skin, then disappears into the bathroom._

 

* * *

Lexa stands in front of the giant view screen in OPs, her hands behind her back. She nods at the on-duty communications officer, and the screen bursts to life. She is grateful for the presence of Anya just behind her and slightly to her left, for Indra behind her at the tactical console. She is less appreciative of the higher-up starfleet officials that stand off to the side, watching her every move like raptors waiting to jump at her and attack at the first sign of weakness.

The image of a woman fills the screen, her skin pale and her eyes equally so. She has the same raised markings that little Roan’s skin, and her entire face seems to be stuck in a sneer. The room behind her is shrouded in darkness, but Lexa can make out dark shapes moving around in the background. 

“I am the Commander of this station,” Lexa greets, “Lexa Wulfrek Heda. What is your business?”

“I am Queen Nia of the Azgeda,” the woman says, her voice filled with the sneer that graces her features, “and I am looking for my son, Prince Roan.” 

“The Prince is onboard the station,” Lexa says, her voice filled with her practiced authority. “I have granted him asylum, as per his request. If you would like to speak with him, I can arrange for a line to be opened.”

“That will not be necessary,” Nia snaps. “Simply arrange for a transport, and we will be on our way.” 

Lexa raises one finger behind her back and she hears Indra raise the shields. “I am afraid that will not be possible. Regulation instructs that any life form given asylum will not be released without their consultation.” 

“I am not interested in your regulations, Commander,” Nia spits, “I am interested in the return of my son. You have one hour to comply.” The transmission cuts off, and Lexa turns to face her crew behind her. 

“Yellow alert,” she instructs. “Ensign, have Prince Roan report to OPs immediately.” She turns to acknowledge the Starfleet officials. She seeks out Admiral Kane’s eyes. “Admiral, how would you like to proceed?” 

The Admiral steps forward, scratching his beard. “This isn’t my station, Commander,” he says with a smile. “I’m more than happy to follow your lead.” Lexa nods, and takes a seat in the command chair. 

“Commander, our sensors are reading raised shields and powered weapons from the Azgeda vessel,” Indra reports. Lexa nods in acknowledgement, and taps her fingers against the armrest. 

“Keep our shields raised and stand-by to charge weapons if it comes to that,” Lexa orders, “but with any luck we will be able to avoid that.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

The doors to the turbo lift slide open and Roan steps out into OPs. Lexa stands and meets him in the middle of the room. 

“I just met your mother,” she informs him. “She wishes to have me transport you to her ship immediately, or she will fire upon this station.” 

Roan’s eyebrow knit together, and he sighs. “Can you open a line? I need to speak with her.” Lexa turns and nods at the communications ensign, and the screen comes back to life. 

“Commander,” Nia greets, “I thought we had an agreement.” 

“I never agreed to anything,” Lexa objects calmly. “I have your son with me, and he wishes to speak with you.” Roan steps into frame and Nia’s face turns to shock, which Lexa can’t help but feel slightly satisfied at. 

“Hello, mother,” Roan greets her. “Miss me?”

“Foolish boy,” Nia hisses, “do you know what you’ve done?” 

Roan smirks. “This is all of your own doing, mother.” 

“I have had enough of your childish behaviour,” Nia exclaims, slamming her fist down on an unseen surface. “Return to me at once, and all will be forgiven. If you stay, the full force of the Azgeda will be brought upon you.” Nia cuts the transmission off again. 

Roan looks over at Lexa and presses his lips together. “Now you see why I ran away from home, commander.” Lexa raises her eyebrows, amused. 

“Heda, how do you wish to proceed?” Anya prompts. Lexa walks to the command chair and opens a link to station communications. 

“All senior officers, report to the conference room immediately,” Lexa orders. She closes the comm link, and opens another. “Officer Lincoln, report to the bridge.” 

“ _Yes, Heda_.”

When Lincoln arrives, Lexa gives him control of the bridge. She leaves Roan behind as she and Anya make their way to the conference room, Indra having left a few minutes prior. 

“Apologies for interrupting your dinner plans,” Anya says as they make their way through the halls. 

Lexa rolls her eyes at the Vulcan’s statement, knowing Anya is trying to be facetious. 

“I was enjoying a delicious Alfredo,” Lexa says, matching Anya’s almost-sarcasm. They share a look before entering the conference room. 

Her senior officers are all present, sitting around the table. Admiral Kane sits at the far end of the table, Dr. Abigail Griffin and the Vulcan Ambassador Sitiv on either side of him. Anya sits in the chair to Lexa’s left, Indra to her right. She stands behind her chair, gripping the back tightly in her hands. 

“Good evening,” Lexa starts. “I’m sorry for dragging you all away from your plans, but we’ve been faced with a…complicated situation. I did not feel it right to make this decision without first consulting my senior staff. Lieutenant Commander T’Al will bring you all up to speed on the situation.” Lexa moves away from the table and allows Anya to take over the briefing. Lexa stands at the window, searching for something akin to an answer within the deep space. 

“I vote we give him back,” Chief Reyes says as soon as Anya has finished speaking. “Compromising the safety of the station and everyone aboard seems irresponsible.” Lexa listens carefully, not yet turning around. 

“We can’t just offer him up like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter,” Dr. Griffin senior argues. 

“What about the Prime Directive?” Ambassador Sitiv interjects. “We are not to interfere with other cultures. This is not our battle. Allow Roan to make his decision, and we will follow suit.” 

“So what, he decides to stay and then we’re forced to fight off an attack?” Reyes asks in a huff. “Speaking as Chief Engineer, we are nowhere near equipped to defend ourselves against these people.” 

“This is not a negotiation,” Sitiv says calmly. “The Prime Directive is what we must follow above all else.” 

“The Prime Directive isn’t black and white,” Admiral Kane offers his thoughts. “While I agree with the Ambassador that we should not interfere with the Azgeda’s affairs, we have a duty to everyone on this station to keep them safe as well as we can.” 

Lexa turns around and sits down in her chair, leaning on the table. “Does anyone else have another perspective to add?” A resounding silence echoes through the room. “Very well. You are dismissed. Thank you for your time.” The officers and personnel around her stand, slowly exiting the room. All except one. 

“You remember that speech you gave at the party?” Clarke says, coming to sit in the chair Indra recently vacated. 

“Vaguely,” Lexa answers. 

“You said, ‘eat, drink, and be merry’,” Clarke continues. “Do you know how that quote ends?” Lexa shakes her head. “ ‘For tomorrow, we die’,” Clarke finishes with an empty laugh. “I know we’re not really close to that result, but the irony isn’t lost on me.” 

“Are you here to mock my speech-giving skills?” Lexa asks. 

“No, not this time,” Clarke says, “but I do have an idea that I didn’t think you’d want me to say in front of everyone else.” Lexa looks up, prompting Clarke to continue. “Obviously we can’t interfere with Roan’s decision, but I think that if he was made clear on what the consequences are, he would make the right choice.” 

Lexa tilts her head to the side, thinking over her options. “Do you not have a moral issue with sending him back to his people, knowing that he will most likely be treated as a prisoner?” 

Clarke shrugs. “If he made decisions in his past that lead to his current situation, there’s nothing we can do about that. But we can protect our station and our people.” 

Lexa nods. “Thank you, Clarke. For your input.” Clarke smiles and stands, making her way to the door. 

She turns, and calls out to Lexa. Lexa stands, turning to acknowledge the doctor. 

“I have another idea.” 

 

* * *

_This is the Starfleet station_ Polis _calling the Azgeda vessel. A new development in the case of your prince has arisen. Acknowledge our hail, or we will be forced to enter aggressive negotiations. Repeat. This is the Starfleet station_ Polis _calling the Azgeda vessel. A new development in the case of your prince has arisen. Acknowledge our hail, or we will be forced to enter aggressive negotiations. Repeat. This is the Starfleet station_ Polis _calling the Azgeda vessel. A new development in the case of your prince has arisen. Acknowledge our hail, or we will be forced to enter aggressive negotiations._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the space parents make their entrance. Thank you all for reading and for your really kind words in your reviews and the kudos you leave :) a happy author is a slightly more productive author! I struggled a little with this chapter but I think it came out alright. Stay lovely, readers!


	8. Stardates 61870.7 - 61880.6

_Security log. Stardate 61870.7._

_[Name, Title]_ **_ROAN, PRINCE_ ** _[Time Booked]_ **_2030_ **

_[Federation Citizen] YES_ **_NO_ ** _[Race]_ **_AZGEDA_ **

_[Charges]_ **_ASSAULT ON A STARFLEET OFFICIAL (OFT)_ **

**_THEFT OF STARFLEET PROPERTY (OFT)_ **

**_COMMANDEERING A STARFLEET VESSEL WITHOUT CLEARANCE (OFT)_ **

 

* * *

“Explain to me one more time how this is going to help?” Roan asks from his seat in the holding cell. 

“We can’t interfere with your people’s affairs,” Clarke starts explaining for what feels like the millionth time, “but if you’ve committed crimes, we don’t have any obligation to release you.” 

Roan laughs and stretches back onto the bed. “I wouldn’t have pegged your Federation to be so underhanded.” 

Clarke shrugs. She glances behind her at the disapproving form of Indra hovering at the door. “To be honest, I doubt the Federation would approve. This is all my own underhanded-ness.” She taps a few buttons and erects the forcefield. “Get comfortable,” she says with a mocking smile. Roan snorts and waves her away. 

Indra stops her as she passes. The Klingon doesn’t say anything, just nods her head respectfully at the doctor. Clarke nods back, a smile creeping up as she walks away, basking in the satisfaction of having finally earned another shred of the security chief’s respect. She makes her way to the conference room, where Lexa is waiting to receive a delegation from the Azgeda. 

When she arrives, she finds herself waiting in the hall with Kane and Sitiv. 

“They’ve only just started,” Kane informs her. 

“Is the Commander in there alone?” Clarke asks, hoping the concern doesn’t etch into her features the way it does her voice. 

Kane shakes his head. “Lieutenant Commander T’Al is in there with her. We decided it was best to keep the whole thing small. And this _is_ her station, after all.” Clarke nods and leans back against the wall. 

“What do you think is going to happen?” She asks after a beat. 

“If the Azgeda follow any similar societal codes to ours, they should behave as expected and accept the new terms,” Ambassador Sitiv answers. Clarke bites her lip, trying to contain the nervous energy that tingles in her from head to toe. 

Clarke waits for over an hour, pacing in front of the door, leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor. At one point an ensign comes and delivers glasses of water, his antennae twitching nervously as he serves the Admiral and Ambassador. Clarke offers him a smile, recognizing him from around the station. 

Finally, after the slowest hour of her life, the doors slide open. Clarke scrambles to her feet, pulling at the bottom of her uniform jacket. The first person through the door is a tall woman, wrapped in furs. Her eyes scan over the waiting parties in the hall, her gaze cold and slicing. Clarke wants to curl up in ball and cower under her glare, but she forces herself to stand straight and tall. Behind the woman follows a girl, no older than eighteen, similarly dressed in furs. Lexa and LtCr. T’Al exit soon after. 

“Admiral, Ambassador,” Lexa greets, “doctor. This is Queen Nia of Azgeda, and her attendant Ontari.” 

Kane steps forward and offers his hand, but Nia only glares at it until the man lowers his hand. “We’re honoured to have you aboard the station,” Kane settles on saying, a friendly smile easily finding purchase on his face. Nia continues to ignore him, and Clarke has moved past feeling intimidated to wanting to punch this woman in the face. 

Lexa steps forward and gestures for the Azgeda women to follow her. “I will take you to see your son now, your highness,” she instructs firmly. Lexa leads the group with a swift pace, Clarke and the two Federation representatives falling into step behind them. 

“What is the purpose of this station?” Nia asks as they stand in the turbo lift. Her voice is like a cold douse of water, and Clarke shifts uncomfortably on her feet. 

“Research and exploration,” Lexa says. Her answer is short, and Clarke can tell she doesn’t want to give Nia any extra information. 

“How can it be built for research or exploration when it is held in one place?” The Queen sounds far more judgemental than curious. 

“We have access to nearby systems, runabout vessels for short trips, and can act as a stop for mobile exploratory missions,” Lexa rails off. Nia hums in response, her face stuck in her perma-sneer. 

The group makes their way to the security office, where Indra and two security officers, Miller and Monroe, are waiting for them. Lexa shows Nia to the holding cells and then returns to wait outside with the rest of the Starfleet officers and Sitiv, leaving Indra and her officers to attend to Nia. 

“How were the talks?” Kane asks her, and Clarke inches closer so she doesn’t miss a word. 

“The Azgeda are not an easy people to get any answers out of,” Lexa says with a small sigh. “I believe we have come to an understanding, but I am unsure as to whether or not Nia will adhere to that understanding.” Kane nods, thanking the Commander and moving to speak in hushed tones with Sitiv. 

Clarke takes his place beside Lexa. “Do you think this is going to work?” She asks quietly, folding her arms across her chest. 

Lexa looks over at her and nods once. “They have no previous knowledge of our laws,” she murmurs back, “and so they should have no reason to doubt our word.” Lexa’s shoulder slumps very slightly, but Clarke catches it, and she furrows her brow in concern. 

“You don’t like lying, do you?” Clarke observes. 

“I have no issue with doing what is best for my people,” Lexa counters. “But I will admit that I will feel much more at ease once the Queen has returned to her own vessel.” Clarke nods in agreement. 

The doors to the holding cells slide open and Nia sweeps through them. She stops in front of Lexa, her rage rolling off in waves. 

“We are prepared to return to our ship,” the Queen hisses. Lexa nods and taps her comm badge. 

“Mr. Lincoln, prepare to beam the Azgeda delegation back to their ship,” she instructs. “Energize on my command.” Lexa bows her head respectfully to Nia and her attendant. “I hope that our future meeting will be under better circumstances.” 

Nia smiles, and Clarke shrinks back a little. The expression looks unnatural and uncomfortable on Nia’s face. 

“We will be in contact soon, Heda,” Nia says. 

Lexa taps her comm badge. “Mr. Lincoln, energize.” Nia and Ontario dematerialize in front of their eyes, and Clarke breathes a sigh of relief when they’re gone. She sees a similar tension leave Lexa’s body, and even Kane seems to visibly relax. 

“Well handled, Commander,” Kane praises Lexa, “I’ll be sure to put in a commendation to Starfleet.” 

“Thank you, sir, but that is not necessary,” she tries to deflect, “I simply performed the duties expected of me.”

Kane laughs, patting the Trill on the shoulder and walking away. Lexa turns to Clarke, confused. 

“I was not aware I had said something amusing,” Lexa says. 

Clarke coughs to hide her own laughter. “No, you didn’t,” she reassures her, “that’s just Kane.” Lexa’s brow furrows in deeper confusion, before LtCr. T’Al chimes in. 

“Humans are illogical,” she grumbles, “pay them no heed, Heda.” 

Clarke can’t contain the eye-roll, and she shakes her head, almost fondly, as the two officers walk away. 

 

* * *

Clarke wakes up the next morning to a notification on her computer’s data system. She rolls out of bed, trudging to the console and tapping open the newly transferred file. It’s a large file, and she has to input her security clearance four separate times in order to open it. It’s title is simply _Coalition_ and words and phrases like “trans-unification” and “systemic integration” fly out at her. It’s a lot of information, tracing back centuries. There are mentions of wars, of subterfuge missions that, if Clarke’s history isn’t wrong, would put the Coalition on the opposite side of the Federation in multiple conflicts. She reads about the eventual integration of the Coalition into cross-space politics, of future plans for cultural re-integration. She reads about the kidnapping of children to whisk them away for training, she reads about the attempted abolishment of the cultural practices by the Trill government, and she reads about the exodus of Heda’s followers to a distant moon in a solar system that neighbours Trillius Prime’s. 

By the time she’s through reading, her head is spinning and Clarke isn’t sure that she’s absorbed even a third of the information. She drags herself to the sonic shower, hoping the pulse vibrations will help clear her head. 

They don’t. 

She spends the whole day fumbling around sickbay, her head full and her thoughts elsewhere. She treats an ensign with a cough and a lieutenant with boils on three of four feet, all the while trying to sort out all the information she was bombarded with this morning. She wants to talk it through with Raven, or Octavia, but she remembers the urgency Lexa had in her voice when she first promised to share the information with Clarke. She can’t tell anyone. 

Anyone outside the Coalition.

So, running on a hunch, Clarke finds herself sitting across from Lincoln at her desk. 

“Thanks for coming,” she says, handing him a pint of Romulun ale. He smiles at her in thanks. 

“It’s my pleasure,” he says, “although I’m not sure what it is you want with me, doctor.” 

Clarke taps her fingers on her own glass of water. “You’re a member of the Coalition, right?” 

Lincoln nods. 

“I need someone to…to explain it to me,” Clarke admits. “Lex- the Commander has given the unabridged history of the Coalition, and I read it through, but there’s so much that just isn’t clear.” 

Lincoln sets down his ale and breathes deeply through his nose. “There was no official Coalition until the Commander became Heda,” he begins, “not as we would understand it. She was the first to unite the loyal beneath one banner, to end centuries of cultural discord and begin this new era of cooperation.” 

“Cooperation with whom, exactly?” Clarke asks.

“The Federation, for one,” Lincoln says, “and within the Coalition.” He sighs and shifts in his seat. “It might be more beneficial to tell you my own story.” Clarke smiles encouragingly, but she leans forward and rests her hands on her desk, giving Lincoln her full attention.

“I was born into the Coalition, or whatever it was before it really became as such. My parents had made the pilgrimage to join their Heda, and lived in the City of Light until their deaths in one of the civil wars. I grew up during war time, when the followers of Heda were constantly in conflict about various petty things.” 

Clarke holds her tongue, about a million questions already forming, but this is the most she’s ever heard Lincoln say at any time. 

“When the Commander became Heda, she spent two years in the City of Light, learning about the people and finally uniting them. No other Heda had ever even attempted this,” Lincoln sounds like he’s in awe of Lexa’s achievements. Clarke doesn’t blame him. “She earned her title of the Great Uniter, and her people have been prospering ever since. Heda encouraged our integration with Starfleet, and the end of the xenophobia that plagued our culture for over one hundred years.” Lincoln pauses and examines Clarke’s face. He raises his eyebrows. “Would you like to ask your question now, doctor?” 

“Oh thank god, yes,” Clarke breathes out. “Okay, well, what’s the City of Light?”

“That is the name given to the moon that the Coalition has settled.”

“What is it about the Heda symbiont that is so special?”

“What makes any one things more special than another?” Lincoln counters. “Heda requires a strong mind and body, and reverence was placed upon it centuries ago. Why did ancient earth cultures worship holy men and women over others? It is the same question, just a different planet.” 

Clarke worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “So do you see the Commander as a goddess?”

Lincoln shrugs. “Heda is whatever any individual needs her to be. I see her as a great leader, one who holds her people’s best interests over anything else. I think all of those things are more impressive than being a mythologized deity.

“That’s…that’s really sensible,” Clarke mumbles, feeling chagrined. Lincoln inclines his head in thanks. “I just have one more question, if you don’t mind. How did your parents know about this whole culture?” 

“It isn’t a secret, doctor,” Lincoln says with a small laugh, “we make no attempt to hide. Perhaps you just haven’t been looking hard enough.” 

 

* * *

_“Checkmate!” Wells cheers triumphantly, leaning back in his chair. Clarke frowns, examining the three-dimensional chess board. Unable to find a way around the move, she groans and slumps in her seat._

_“This sucks,” Clarke pouts, “we’ve been confined to quarters for hours.” She watches as Wells sets the game up again. “Ugh, no, no more chess.” She stands up and opens the control panel for the door._

_“Clarke, my father confined us to quarters because it isn’t safe out there,” Wells warns her._

_Clarke laughs. “Your father confined us to quarters because he thinks we can’t take care of ourselves.” She peers into the control panel, and starts pushing buttons. “We’ll grab some phasers, so we’ll be armed and safe, and we’ll just see what’s going on. If I have to play one more game of chess, I’m going to shove my king up your ass.” She pulls a wire out, and the door slides open. She whirls around and grins cheekily at Wells. He hesitates for a moment, but then stands begrudgingly and follows Clarke out the door._

 

* * *

Clarke settles onto her bed, kicking off her uniform boots and throwing her arm over her eyes. The length of the day has worn her down, and the dinner she had just finished with her mother has only added to her stress. Endless questions about her research plans, her aspirations for publication, her plans for when this posting is finished, anything and everything. She feels like a bad person for her wishes that Abby would just get on the next transport home, but after the inquisition she just suffered, Clarke can’t help it. 

As she struggles to remove her jacket while still lying down, she hears the alert of her doorbell. With a groan, Clarke pushes herself up and swings her legs off the bed, shrugging out of her jacket. The door alert sounds again and Clarke grits her teeth. 

“Come in,” she calls out, and the door slides open to let Lexa walk in. Clarke finds that a smile falls easily onto her lips at the sight of the Commander stepping through her doorway, her hands clasping a tablet in front of her. 

“Hello, Clarke,” the Trill greets. 

“Hi,” Clarke replies. “Is there something you need?” 

Lexa shakes her head minutely, her eyes flickering down to the floor before coming back up to meet Clarke’s. “No, I do not need anything. I only hoped that I might be able to ask your advice.” 

If it were anyone else standing in her entryway at the end of this day, Clarke wouldn’t hesitate to turn them away. But it isn’t anyone else, it’s Lexa, and she looks uncharacteristically soft and nervous in the dim lighting. So Clarke sits on her couch and pats the cushion next to her. Lexa offers her a small smile, sitting down and clutching the tablet in her lap. 

“So, what’s up?” Clarke asks, leaning against the armrest and propping her head in her hand. 

“Admiral Kane has informed me that in a few months time we should be expecting travellers to start using _Polis_ as a stop in their journeys,” Lexa says. “Because of this influx of people, I have been asked to begin the commercialization of the boardwalk. The Admiral gave me a list of businesses that have submitted their applications but I’m afraid I have no… _knack_ for this.” She turns on the tablet and hands it to Clarke. “I remembered our conversation from a few weeks back and I thought you may have some useful insights.” Her voice is careful, as if she’s scared that speaking too forcefully might cause Clarke to flee like a frightened animal. 

Clarke thinks that maybe Lexa is much more like an easily startled animal than she. 

“Of course, Lexa,” Clarke says. “I can have a selection for you by tomorrow.” She smiles at the commander, expecting her to stand and leave. But instead, Lexa folds her hands in her lap and clears her throat. 

“I was hoping we might go through it now,” she says hesitantly, “together.” Clarke’s smile widens, and she tries to hide it by pressing her lips together tightly. 

Clarke nods and settles back into the couch. She gestures with her head to get Lexa to move closer so they both have a view of the tablet. “Let’s get down to business, then.” 

 

* * *

Anya steps into the holodeck, her hands clenched into fists at her side. Chief Reyes was supposed to report to OPs and deliver an update on the progress she’s made on the structural integrity shields. However, after waiting more than half an hour, Anya had found her patience growing thin. The computer had located Reyes in holodeck three, and now that was where Anya found herself. 

The holodeck had been transformed into some dirty, small, and loud room. The floors are concrete and the walls a sheet metal. A bench covered in tools is against the left wall. There’s a large vehicle in the centre of the room, and Anya can see two legs sticking out from underneath it. 

“Lieutenant Commander Reyes!” Anya tries to call out over the loud music that is blasting throughout the room. “Chief Reyes!” She receives no answer, and so, striding quickly over to the legs, Anya leans down and grabs the engineer by her ankles, dragging her out from under the vehicle. 

“Fucking shit!” Reyes exclaims, trying to twist out of the Vulcan’s grip. Anya rolls her eyes, releasing the human and standing up straight. She waits as Reyes composes herself and gets to her feet. “Are you fucking crazy? You can’t just grab someone like that and drag them to their death, for fuck’s sake!” Anya watches impassively as the engineer tries to get in her face and intimidate her. 

“Turn the music off, Reyes,” Anya orders. Reyes complies, and the silence rushes over them. Anya lets out a subtle breath of relief, her sensitive ears appreciating the lack of auditory interference. 

“Care to explain why you just manhandled me?” Reyes asks, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. 

“You were unresponsive when I called out to you,” Anya explains coolly. “It was the next logical step.” Reyes scoffs, and Anya waits for her to calm down. She takes in the engineer’s appearance, not much different than her usual lack of proper uniform. Her coveralls are, as usual, tied around her waist in a break of dress code, and her exposed arms are covered in grease. Anya reads the print across her sleeveless shirt and raises an eyebrow. “‘Fuck you you fucking fuck’?” She says aloud. Reyes shrugs and reties her long hair into a ponytail. “Your lack of professionalism is almost admirable, Reyes.” 

“Did you need something?” The engineer says flippantly. 

“You missed a duty report.” 

Reyes rolls her eyes. “Are you going to write me up?” 

“I considered it,” Anya says. 

“Of course you did,” Reyes grumbles, “classic Vulcan, following protocol without fail, logically determining each step.” 

“If you are attempting to goad me, it will not work,” Anya informs her. “I considered writing you up, but now that we are in the same place, it would be much simpler if you were to deliver your report now.” 

Reyes furrows her brow. “So you _aren’t_ going to write me up?” 

“Do you want me to write you up?”

“I don’t know, no, but I just thought-“

“Lieutenant Commander, I am not writing you up. But if you do not start reporting to me in the next five seconds, I may have to change my mind.”

A smile breaks across Reyes’s face. “You know, Lieutenant Commander, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re taking it easy on me or something.”

“Then it’s a good thing you know better, Reyes,” Anya deadpans. “Now, report.”

 

* * *

Clarke blinks awake, lifting her head from where it was hanging over the armrest of her couch. Her quarters are dark, and there’s a weight on her shoulder. She turns her head and is met with a nose full of dark hair. Clarke crinkles her nose and tries to lean back and get a good look at whoever is using her as some sort of human pillow. 

It’s Lexa. 

Clarke takes a slow, deep breath and pieces together the night before. They went over the list of potential shops for the Boardwalk, and then the schedule for routine training exercises, and then they talked about the Azgeda, and then…and then they must have fallen asleep. 

The weight of Lexa’s head on her shoulder, and the press of her body against Clarke’s is not unwelcome, and Clarke’s breath catches in her throat when Lexa’s hand finds purchase in the material of Clarke’s shirt. Carefully, Clarke tries to slip out from underneath the Commander, but the slight movement causes her to stir, and Clarke holds her breath. Lexa’s head lifts and Clarke watches as she blinks away sleep. It’s only a moment, one moment where the usually put together officer is vulnerable, where she stretches her neck she looks at her surroundings, and Clarke can see the young woman who lives behind the mask of Heda. But then she locks eyes with Clarke and it’s like a wall slams down between them. Lexa stands immediately, swaying slightly on her tired legs. 

“I apologize, doctor,” Lexa says curtly. She opens her mouth to say more, but no words come out, so she just closes it again and looks over Clarke’s head. 

“Lexa, it’s fine,” Clarke assure her, standing up and offering her a small smile. “Trust me, I’ve woken up in way worse situations.” She tries to get a smile or a laugh from the Trill, but Lexa’s lips press together tightly, and her jaw clenches. Clarke tries to ignore the shine she can see in her eyes. She understands pride, she understands the importance that Lexa places on appearing strong. 

“Thank you for your help last night, doctor,” Lexa says. “And again, I apologize.” She turns to leave, but Clarke grabs her arm and stops her. 

She struggles to find words for a moment, because she and Lexa had only recently gotten back to normal, to being able to work together and be some sort of friends. She doesn’t want to go back to being awkward, to feeling like she’s done something wrong. And she doesn’t want Lexa to think she’s done anything wrong, either. 

“We can just pretend it never happened,” Clarke says, maybe too quickly. “But it isn’t a big deal, Lexa.” 

“Whatever you are comfortable with, doctor.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Stop calling me doctor, _Commander_ ,” she huffs. “You’re being ridiculous, Lexa. We took a nap. Get over it.” She lets go of her arm. Lexa stays quiet, her eyes looking anywhere but at Clarke. “Seriously? That’s really mature, ignoring me. Learn how to deal with your shit, Lexa, because you can’t treat people like this. It’s getting really old.” 

“I have to report to OPs,” Lexa mumbles, trying to leave. 

“Computer, lock doors.,” Clarke commands. “Lexa. We need to talk about this,” she gestures between them, “because whatever is going on is obviously stressing you out.” 

Lexa sighs and leans back against the locked doors. It’s a small concession in her body language, a vulnerability that she’s allowing herself. “You frighten me, Clarke.” 

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “I frighten you?”

“Yes,” Lexa says softly. “You frighten me.” Clarke waits for her to say more, but instead, Lexa just pushes off the wall and steps towards her. She stops only half a foot away, close enough that she reaches out and takes Clarke’s hand. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable,” she says. “I am your commanding officer, I hold a position of power over you. This is not only your home, but your workspace. If you do not feel safe and comfortable in it, then it is my failing as a commander.” She steps a little closer, and Clarke takes a shuddering breath. “You have already told me you are not ready to be with anyone, and I want to respect your wishes. But I cannot deny the way I feel for you.” Clarke feels Lexa’s grip loosen on her hand, as if giving her the chance to pull away, and it’s that small gesture that makes Clarke’s grip just a little tighter. “However, I do not want you to feel like I am taking advantage of your hospitality, or good nature by putting you in situations like these.” 

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe we’re both taking advantage?” Clarke asks quietly. “You know how I feel, Lexa.” 

Lexa nods and Clarke takes the step closer this time. 

“I fear that a relationship of this kind would be hard to explain to my crew,” Lexa admits. “Starfleet would certainly not approve, nor would my people.” 

Clarke feels a rush of bravery flood her heart, and she harnesses it before she misses this opportunity. “Maybe not a relationship,” she suggests. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be in one, and you’re right. It would be difficult. But…but what if we didn’t tell anyone?” 

“A secret,” Lexa clarifies, and Clarke stutters as she takes a deep breath, their chests brushing together. 

“Without the pressure of a relationship,” Clarke tries to reason, “we could just…be ourselves. No need to explain it to anyone. No one to justify it to, or to judge.” She cautiously runs her free hand up Lexa’s arm, resting it on her shoulder. She watches as Lexa swallows heavily. “What do you say?” She steps forward the last inch, her bare toes resting against the toes of Lexa’s uniform boots. Lexa doesn’t say anything.

She kisses her. 

It’s slow, and deep, and Clarke melts into it. Lexa’s hands cup her neck, fingers weaving into her hair. Clarke loops her hands around her neck, tugging her closer until their bodies are flush, pressed tightly against each other. She hears the smallest moan escape Lexa’s lips as Clarke tugs her bottom lip, so she pulls harder, gently nipping at it with her teeth. One of Lexa’s hands finds purchase on Clarke’s hip, her thumb slipping underneath her shirt and rubbing at her bare hipbone. A jolt shoots down to Clarke’s abdomen, and she pulls back to catch her breath. Lexa immediately takes a step back, but Clarke pulls her back in, resting their foreheads together. 

“Just give me a second,” Clarke says breathlessly. Lexa nods, brushing their noses together. She waits while Clarke takes a deep breath, and rubs soothing circles into her hip. Clarke tilts her head up and connects their lips again, deeply and briefly. “Fuck,” Clarke exhales. Lexa breathes her agreement, and Clarke opens her eyes and sees Lexa’s deep green eyes looking at her with something so open and caring that it nearly knocks her off her feet. 

“Is there something wrong?” Lexa asks, her voice barely a murmur. 

“No,” Clarke answers, reaching up to run her thumb over Lexa’s bottom lip. “No, there’s nothing wrong at all.” 

“Good,” Lexa says, her eyes fluttering closed. “I’m going to kiss you again, if that’s alright.” She waits for Clarke’s permission, and she gives it in the form of a small nod, even if what’s really on the tip of her tongue is something more along the lines of _oh god yes please never stop again_. 

Their lips press together, breath mingling as their kisses grow more desperate, tongues sliding together wetly, and Clarke is surprised her knees haven’t given out yet. Kissing Lexa is heady, it’s comfortable, it’s exciting. She thinks her heart is going to burst right out of her chest with how hard it’s beating. Clarke fumble with Lexa’s jacket zipper, opening it and pushing the offending article of clothing off her shoulders. She vaguely hears it hit the floor, and it’s almost ridiculous how feeling Lexa’s bare shoulders under her hands draws a moan from her throat. She’s mildly aware of Lexa leading her to the couch, and Clarke pulls away again. Lexa doesn’t step back this time, instead kissing along Clarke’s jaw and down her throat, which thoroughly distracts her from what she was about to say. 

“Lexa,” Clarke tries, her voice weak and lacking any protest. Lexa hums acknowledgment, the vibration against her skin causing Clarke to inhale sharply through her nose. “Lexa,” she tries again, “bed. Not couch.” She digs her fingers into Lexa’s bare skin and the Trill lifts her head from where she had been sucking at Clarke’s pulse point. 

“What?” She asks, and Clarke stifles a laugh at the Commander’s expense, smiling fondly at the confused expression on Lexa’s face. She lifts a hand to brush back Lexa’s hair, and she kisses her, smiling against her lips. 

“Bed,” Clarke says once she pulls back. Lexa nods, and Clarke leads her by the hand to her bedroom, directing Lexa to sit on the edge of the bed. Clarke stands between her legs, Lexa’s hands holding her hips. 

“Are you sure, Clarke?” Lexa asks, looking up at her. 

Clarke nods, leaning down and kissing her, pushing until Lexa lands on her back. Clarke climbs up onto the bed, straddling Lexa’s waist, her hands on either side of her head, holding her above Lexa. 

“I’m sure,” she says, lowering herself to lean on her forearms. “You?”

Lexa pulls at Clarke’s shirt until the doctor sits up and pulls it off herself. Clarke smirks as Lexa’s eyes go wide, sitting up to press their torsos together. “Very, very sure.” 

 

* * *

_“Again!” Gustus yells as he swings his bat’leth at Lexa. Lexa raises her weapon and blocks the swing, pushing hard against her teacher’s blade. With a cry, she shoves it back, causing him to stumble back and lose his footing long enough for her to dash forward and kick his legs out from underneath him. He falls heavily, and she places a foot on his chest, holding the point of her blade to his throat._

_“Good,” he praises, and Lexa tosses her blade to the side, stepping off of him. “One of these days I’ll stop going easy on you.” He stands up, towering over her twelve-year old frame._

_“That’s what you say every time,” she says, rolling her eyes. Gustus chuckles and claps her on the shoulder. The force of it nearly knocks her off her feet, but she holds as steady as she can._

_“Soon we will move on from the bat’leth,” Gustus says as he picks up her weapon and hands it back to her. “You are strong for your size, but unless you grow to be the size of a Klingon, I think we will have to find another tactic for you, Lexa.”_

_“You always say that my size shouldn’t be a factor,” Lexa argues._

_Gustus sighs and sits down on a nearby stump, and Lexa listens to the sounds of the forest around her, waiting for her teacher to speak up._

_“You are strong, you are smart, and you are quick,” Gustus says, smiling at her. “But you are young. And you have much to learn. There is far more to being Heda than your skills with a bat’leth. It’s a good place to start, but it is a terrible place to end.”_

_“So what will you have me learn?”_

_Gustus shrugs. “Go through a database. It is your choice, Lexa.” She perks up at that, already eager to get home and begin her search. “You must make some decision yourself. It is up to you to decide what you want, no one else.”_

 

* * *

Clarke traces her fingers up and down Lexa’s back, admiring the black ink that decorates it. 

“This is beautiful,” she says, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine. “Does it mean anything?”

“It’s a reminder,” Lexa says, “of those who had to fall for my victories.” Lexa turns onto her back, looking at Clarke. She leans forward and kisses the doctor, sighing softly as they pull apart. “It isn’t something I like to talk about.” 

Clarke smiles and raises an eyebrow. “We don’t have to talk at all.” Lexa smiles widely, teeth and everything, and she pushes Clarke onto her back, leaning over her and kissing her again, her teeth tugging at Clarke’s bottom lip, biting and then soothing with her tongue, and Clarke feels her body heat back up. Their bare chests press together, and Clarke groans when Lexa’s hand slides between her legs for what feels like the first and the hundredth time since they got in this bed. 

Just as Clarke’s legs are parting to give Lexa more access, the comm system sounds above their heads. 

“ _Murphy to Dr. Griffin._ ” 

Clarke huffs and squeezes her eyes shut. Lexa’s hand stills. 

“Sorry,” Clarke says quietly, then with more authority, “This is Dr. Griffin, go ahead Murphy.” 

“ _Are you showing up to sickbay anytime today?”_

Clarke frowns. Lexa’s hand moves, and Clarke grabs a fistful of the bedsheets. 

“What do you mean?” She gets out, trying to control her breathing as Lexa kisses down her stomach. She makes the mistake of looking down and sees Lexa’s eyes locked onto hers, and she barely manages to hold back a moan. 

“ _It’s almost 0900 hours,_ ” Murphy says. “ _Normally you’re here at like, the ass crack of dawn._ ” 

Clarke bites her lip as Lexa shifts her fingers, pressing up into Clarke at the exact right angle she had found a few hours ago. “I, uh, I’m not feeling great,” Clarke says, her hips bucking as Lexa’s mouth presses against her, her tongue replacing her thumb and drawing circles. Clarke can’t look away from Lexa’s eyes, and she tries to scold her with a look, but the normally stoic Commander’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and, _god_ , she really knows what she’s doing down there. 

“ _Okay_ ,” Murphy says, sounding annoyed, “ _I guess that means I have to take care of your sickbay then?”_

“Ye-uh, yup,” Clarke stutters, one hand flying to twine in Lexa’s hair, and Clarke feels the vibrations of Lexa’s laughter run through her body. “If I feel better, I’ll uh-um, let you know. Griffin out.” The comm channel closes and Clarke finally lets out a long, low moan. “ _Fuck_ , Lexa,” she moans, and soon enough she’s gasping for air and letting her muscles shake, riding out her aftershocks as Lexa slowly withdraws her fingers. Clarke catches her breath and looks over at Lexa, who has returned to her position beside Clarke, lying on her side with a smug smile. She pulls her fingers from her mouth and holds her head up in her other hand.

“Not feeling that great?” Lexa asks. “I would say the opposite is true.” Clarke rolls her eyes and pokes the Commander’s stomach. 

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, still a little breathless. Lexa’s smile turns a little less smug, and she lets Clarke tug her closer. Their legs intertwine, and Clarke squeaks when Lexa’s leg presses up against her. “Sensitive,” she mumbles, and Lexa apologizes softly as Clarke nuzzles into her neck, placing small kisses against her skin. 

“I do not know how long I can stay,” Lexa says sadly, pressing her lips to the top of Clarke’s head. “If it really is 0900, I have already missed a meeting with Titus this morning.” 

“Sucks to be Titus,” Clarke says, her hand running down to squeeze Lexa’s ass. Lexa laughs and squirms, trying to get closer to Clarke as if every part of their bodies weren’t already pressed tightly together. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, and Clarke sighs, knowing where this is going. “This is part of it. I am the commander of this station. And you the doctor. We have to put our responsibility first.” Clarks pulls back and nods. 

“I know,” she says. “But first, shower.” 

“Go ahead,” Lexa says, loosening her grip. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You’re kind of slow sometimes,” she laughs. Clarke rolls away and stands up, turning and offering her hand to Lexa. “You. Me. Shower. Let’s go.” Lexa’s eyes widen and she smiles, grabbing Clarke’s hand and following her to the bathroom. Clarke pauses before she turns the sonic shower on, staring at Lexa. 

“What?” The Trill asks. 

Clarke smirks. “Just taking a mental picture.” She turns the shower on and steps inside. “I like the spots.” 

 

* * *

_Commander’s log, stardate 61879.8. We received a transmission last night from the Azgeda. Nia still demands the release of her son into her custody. They returned to the station this morning with an entire fleet of ships. It appears I will no longer be able to delay returning Roan to his people if I wish to avoid a potentially violent confrontation. Luckily, a Starfleet vessel is en route to pick up our visiting dignitaries and should arrive within the next three days. I have warned them of a potential hostile threat, and they have promised to approach the station with caution. The station has been placed on yellow alert, and shields are raised. All officers are expected to be prepared to man battle stations._

 

* * *

Lexa ends her long entry and sits back in her chair. It’s late, and she has been dealing with the Azgeda’s dramatics for an entire day. She closes her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose, trying to cast away the small voices that have been trying break through her conscious mind all day. The door to her ready room chimes, and she quickly fixes her posture.  
  
“Enter,” she commands. The doors slide open and Clarke steps through, holding her med kit. Lexa stands, her hands clasping behind her back. 

“Evening, Commander,” Clarke greets, walking over to her desk and opening up her med kit, rifling though it. 

“Good evening, doctor,” Lexa replies. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You skipped dinner,” Clarke says, placing a medical tricorder on the desk. “And I have a feeling that you haven’t slept in almost two days.” Lexa watches her work for a moment. 

“I regret that I missed dinner,” she says defensively, “but I had duties to attend to.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes. Lexa has noticed that Clarke does that a lot. “I don’t care that you didn’t meet me for dinner, I care that you haven’t eaten and you have a lot of work ahead of you.” Clarke points at the desk chair. “Now, sit.” Lexa complies, sitting stone-still as Clarke scans her with the tricorder. Clarke hmms when she goes over the readings. “I was right,” she says, almost gloatingly, “you’re dehydrated, exhausted, and hungry.” 

“You got that from your readings?” Lexa asks with a suspicious eyebrow raised. 

“No, I got that from your dry lips, the giant bags under your eyes, and the fact that your stomach has been rumbling every ten seconds since I stepped foot in here,” Clarke says, putting the tricorder back on the desk. “I’m going to prescribe you a tall glass of water, a solid meal, and a good night’s sleep.” 

“I don’t have time, Clarke,” Lexa protests. “I have too much to prepare for tomorrow’s negotiations.” Clarke folds her arms across her chest and fixes Lexa with a totally unimpressed stare. 

“Commander, I’m telling you this as your _doctor_ ,” Clarke says firmly. “You are going to return to your quarters, eat some hearty meal, down a pint of water, and then you will sleep like a goddamn baby until I say you’ve slept long enough, otherwise I will declare you unfit to command.” 

Lexa blinks at her in shock. Clarke waits, unwavering. They stare at each other for a moment, and another. Lexa clears her throat. “What should I eat?” Clarke smirks at her victory and packs up her med kit. 

“Come on, Commander,” she says, nodding her head towards the door, “I’ll replicate you something with plenty of carbs.” They exit the ready room together, and Lexa addresses her staff. 

“I will be retiring for the evening,” she says, her voice all Heda, all Commander. “Major Blake, you have OPs.” Bellamy nods from his position at the Tactical console and is relieved by an ensign. 

“Have a good night, Commander,” he says. She nods her thanks, and Clarke clears her throat. 

“If anything changes, call me immediately, Major,” Lexa instructs as she walks to the turbo lift. 

“Yes, Commander,” Bellamy says. 

“And call Lieutenant Commander T’Al as well.”

“Yes, Commander.” 

Lexa hesitates at the door to the lift, and she hears Clarke’s small huff of frustration. Lexa turns and looks over OPs one more time. 

“Take care of my station, Major.” 

“Yes, Commander.” 

Lexa nods and steps into the lift, Clarke moving to stand next to her. “Habitat ring.” The lift takes off, and Lexa lets the hum of the lift relax her, so much so that she almost nods off on her feet. Clarke steadies her with a hand on her back, and Lexa banks rapidly to try and get rid of her exhaustion. 

“Computer, hold turbo lift.” Clarke commands. The lift halts, and Lexa looks over at Clarke. She sees concern in her blue eyes, and Lexa sighs.  


“I am fine, Clarke,” Lexa reassures. “I’m just tired.” Clarke tilts her head a little, and steps towards her. She leans up and kisses Lexa softly. 

“You have to take care of yourself, Lexa,” Clarke scolds softly. Lexa nods, cupping Clarke’s cheek and rubbing her thumb over her cheekbone. She draws her in for another kiss, sighing with contentment as Clarke’s arms wind around her waist. Her dry lips moisten with the kiss, and Lexa feels Clarke hum into the kiss. They pull back simultaneously. 

“You missed dinner,” Clarke says. “I had to eat with Jasper Jordan.” Lexa laughs quietly and pulls Clarke closer, resting her forehead on her shoulder. “He spent most of the meal trying to convince me that investing in offshore Breen weapons markets was a good idea.” Lexa lifts her head and kisses the hinge of Clarke’s jaw. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Lexa says, taking Clarke’s earlobe between her lips and tugging. Clarke’s arms tighten around her waist and Lexa smiles when she hears a quiet moan slip from the doctor. Clarke pushes her back a little, and Lexa releases her earlobe with a small bite. 

“Let’s just see if you can make it through your dinner without passing out, Commander,” Clarke laughs. Lexa nods and steps back from her, resuming a distance of professionalism. Clarke gives her one more concerned look and resumes the turbo lift. 

They arrive at the habitat ring, and walk in silence to Lexa’s quarters. Clarke hesitates at the door before Lexa rolls her eyes (a contagious habit, it would seem), and tugs the doctor inside. Lexa lets Clarke fuss over her a little more, enjoying the attention even if she would deny that fact later. She devours the bowl of pasta that Clarke places in front of her and chugs the glasses of water that are refilled promptly. Clarke watches as she brushes her teeth and climbs into bed, where Gustus is already sprawled out along the foot of the bed. 

“Good night, Lexa,” Clarke says, turning to leave. 

“Clarke,” Lexa calls out, feeling brave. Clarke stops and turns. “You do not have to leave.” 

Clarke bites her lip and hesitates. 

“You are welcome to stay, or to leave,” Lexa clarifies, sitting up in bed, her heart pounding. “It is your choice.”

She watches as Clarke looks between her and the door, worrying her lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry, Lexa,” she says finally, “I should go.” Lexa nods, watching as Clarke walks out of her room. She hears the doors to her quarters slide open and shut, and she collapses back onto her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Damn it,” she whispers into the darkness. Gustus crawls up the bed and lies down next to her, resting his head on her stomach, whining softly. She buries her fingers in the fur on his neck. “I do not think I handled that well.” Gustus snuffles against her stomach and she sighs. “Goodnight, Gustus.”

 

* * *

_Personal log, stardate 60750.8. Finn asked me to ask for a transfer so I could join him onboard the_ Laurier _. I told him no. I’m doing extremely well in my posting onboard the_ Arkadia _. Unless I can be promised a spot on this ship again, I have zero intention of leaving on my own volition. He understood, I think, but it’s very likely that he won’t call me for a few days. Fine by me, honestly, I’m still pissed at him for thinking it should be me that disrupts my career path to be together. A few days for us to cool off is probably just what we need._

 

* * *

 

“I’m afraid I have little choice in the matter,” Lexa says for the millionth time, “your mother has been waiting at our doorstep for near three days. I can delay her no longer, and she has threatened to open fire upon the station if you do not return to her, our policies be damned.” Roan nods, kicking his feet up onto the conference table.

“So you’re just going to throw me back into the fire, so to speak?” Roan growls. 

Lexa nods. “Yes. I have no other choice.” 

“The Commander has been through every other possible course of action,” Anya says from her seat beside Lexa. “This is the most logical of those options.” Roan huffs, but Lexa can see the fight leave his body. 

“I haven't known you very long, Commander,” he says, “but I trust you enough to believe that you would save me if you had the option.” He stands and bows his head respectfully. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality. When do I leave?” 

Lexa stands. “You have an hour to pack your belongings and say your goodbyes.”

 

* * *

_Commander’s log, stardate 61880.6. Prince Roan of the Azgeda has left us, returned to his mother. The Azgeda ships have left, although I would expect this to be only one of many tense encounters we will have with them. Nia seemed grateful for our cooperation, and I hope that will stave off any lingering feelings of hostility she may have towards the Federation. It’s time to move on from this chapter, and begin the commercialization of the Boardwalk. My focus has shifted to this new duty, and I will be sure to give it my complete attention and effort._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gettin' a lil saucy in this chapter. Thank you everyone for your extremely kind comments and all the kudos, they make me so happy :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter, things are going to pick up in a few ways hereafter and I hope you'll like where I'm going to head. Thank you for reading, you're all fantastic :) 
> 
> OFT in the security log means On Federation Territory.


	9. Stardate 61882.3 - 61911.2

_Commander’s log, stardate 61882.3. The Federation delegation left this morning on the_ USS Greenwich. _I have assigned an engineering crew under the supervision of Major Blake to begin construction on the new shop spaces along the Boardwalk. We received specifications from the chosen merchants, and have approximately a month to complete the store fronts._

 

* * *

Octavia spins in her chair at the communications console, tilting her head to the ceiling. She’s nearing the eighth hour of her overnight shift in OPs, and aside from the departure of the _Greenwich,_ the shift has been exceptionally boring. She looks over at where Lt. Green is nodding off at the science console, snickering as SPC (Specialist) McIntyre kicks him in the shin to keep him awake. She isn’t sure what the two science officers have been working on all night, but their conversation and light-hearted (albeit super nerdy) jokes helped keep everyone else awake. 

“Commander, sensors are picking up an approaching vessel,” Officer Monroe speaks from her place at TAC. The doors to the Commander’s ready room slide open and the Commander strides over to the command chair. Octavia feels more than sees everyone else’s posture straighten, their focus narrow. The air of confidence and control that the Commander exudes is contagious, inspiring and strengthening her officers. She stands in front of the command chair with her hands behind her back, surveying OPs with her usual intensity. 

“Lieutenant Blake, hail them,” the Commander orders. Octavia nods, opening a channel. 

“Unidentified vessel, this is the Federation Station Deep Space Twelve,” Octavia says, the words coming routinely. “Please identify yourself and state your purpose.” She stifles a yawn as she waits for the ship to respond. 

“Looks like a freighter, Commander,” Monroe reports. “I’m only picking up five lifeforms.” 

“Can you identify their cargo?” The Commander asks.

Monroe works for a second, tapping at her console. “Organic matter, I’m not picking up on any potentially dangerous energy signatures.” The Commander nods and takes her seat. 

“Lieutenant, open a channel,” the Commander says. 

“Aye, sir,” Octavia says, complying and opening a channel on all general frequencies. 

“Unidentified vessel, this the Commander of this station,” she says in a strong, authoritative voice. “If you continue to ignore our hails, we will be forced to halt your approach. You are not authorized to approach this station. Either cut your engines, or respond.” They wait, and a few minutes pass. The Commander sighs, “Lock on with the tractor beam.” Monroe nods, and as she goes to engage the tractor beam, a communication comes through on Octavia’s console. 

“Commander, I’m getting a response,” Octavia says.

“Hold tractor beam,” she orders, “On-screen, Lieutenant.” 

The view screen comes to life, and the image of a humanoid fills it. 

“I am Commander Lexa Wulfrek Heda,” the Commander says, “I am in charge of this station. What is your business here?”

“Hello, Commander,” the humanoid speaks, “I’m Luna, captain of this freighter. We’ve been experiencing some trouble with our engines, and we’re looking to dock, make repairs, and maybe take a bit of leave. We’ve been traveling with this cargo for months now.” 

“If you can prepare a list of inventory and needed repairs, I will have my First Officer arrange for cargo storage space as well as a repair crew,” the Commander instructs. “You may proceed to docking bay three.” 

“Thank you, Commander,” Luna says with a grateful nod, and she cuts the transmission. 

“Lieutenant Blake, please inform Lieutenant Commander T’Al of this development and ask her to report to the docking bay to greet our new guests.” 

Octavia opens a channel. “Lieutenant Blake to Lieutenant Commander T’Al.” 

“ _Go ahead, Lieutenant._ ”

“There is a freighter coming in to docking bay three,” Octavia explains, “the Commander requires you to go and greet their crew. They will require a repair crew, as well as cargo storage space.” 

“ _Acknowledged_. _T’Al out_.” 

The line closes and Octavia sits back in her chair. “Lieutenant Commander T’Al is on her way to the docking bay, Commander.” 

“Very well, Lieutenant.” The Commander stands and makes her way back to her ready-room. “When the shift change comes, update them on the situation. Let them know to keep me up to date with any developments.” 

“Aye, Commander.” 

The doors slide shut behind her and everyone in OPs deflates a little. Octavia yawns, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes open. 

“Hey, Octavia,” Harper calls out across OPs, “what does a Romulan frog use for camouflage?” 

“What does it use, Harper?” Octavia calls back, already prepared to groan at how bad this joke is bound to be.

“A croaking device!” Harper finishes the joke and high-fives Monty. Octavia rolls her eyes and shakes her head. 

“That was terrible,” Octavia laughs, “you should personally apologize to everyone who just had to listen to that.” Harper just laughs harder, and soon enough all of OPs is caught up in a round of laughter. When the turbo lift doors slide open and the day shift walks in, they’re still laughing. Octavia wipes away a stray tear as she hands over her seat to Ens. Jordan. She turns to walk to the turbo lift, and runs right into a solid object. Stumbling back, Octavia looks up and is met with the stoic face of Officer Lincoln. 

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he greets with a small smile. Octavia blushes and smiles back.

“Good morning, Mr. Lincoln,” she returns the greeting. 

“Was your shift enjoyable?” He asks, and Octavia feels his voice wash over her like a warm summer breeze, gentle and thoughtful. 

“Pretty boring, but I guess that’s probably a good thing,” she says with a small shrug. Lincoln nods in agreement. They shift awkwardly on their feet for a second before Octavia gestures towards the lift. “I should go get some sleep.” 

“Of course,” Lincoln says, stepping aside. “Have a good day, Lieutenant.” 

“You too,” Octavia says, stepping around Lincoln and trying to control the undeniably dorky smile that’s creeping up on her face. She waits for the next lift to arrive, and when the doors open, Clarke steps out.

“Clarke?” 

“Octavia!” Clarke exclaims, sounding either surprised or distressed. Maybe both. “Hey! Heading out?” 

Octavia raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. Why are you here?” 

“I can be in OPs if I want to,” Clarke defends, crossing her arms across her chest. Octavia looks her up and down. 

“You’re being weird.” 

“No I’m not.” 

“Yeah, you are, Clarke. You’re twitchy.” 

“I had a lot of coffee.” 

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Fine, be weird. I’m too tired to try and decipher your weirdness.” She steps past Clarke and into the turbo lift. “Have fun being weird.”

“I’m not bei-“ The doors slide shut, cutting the doctor off. 

 

* * *

_“And when you attach this blue wire to the little metallic ball, voilà!” Jake Griffin leans back with a smile as Clarke’s face lights up with joy at the holographic image of a dog that flickers to life. She claps her tiny hands together and squeals when the dog starts chasing its own tail._

_“Doggy!” She exclaims, reaching out to touch it. Her hand passes through it, her smile faltering for only a second before it came back as the dog let out a muffled bark._

_“That’s right, kiddo,” Jake says, picking her up and hoisting her onto his shoulders. “What noise do doggies make?” Clarke’s fingers grip at his hair as she starts barking. Jake laughs and joins in, bouncing his daughter on his shoulders and jogging around their quarters. Clarke’s barking devolves into laughter as Jake spins around._

_“What’s going on in here?” Abby walks into the quarters, hanging up her uniform jacket, smiling widely at the scene in front of her._

_“Mama!” Clarke exclaims, patting her hands on Jake’s head. He gently lowers her to the floor, and he smiles as the barely toddler rushes to her mom as fast as she can on her little legs. Abby scoops her up and kisses the top of her head. Jake walks over and shares a quick kiss with his wife._

_“Clarke and I were being doggies,” Jake says, laughing when Clarke barks in Abby’s ear. Abby laughs, gently prying a strand of her hair from Clarke’s grabby hands. “Early home education, very important stuff.”_

_“Any chance this early home education includes culinary arts?” Abby asks. Jake grins and kisses the top of Clarke’s head._

_“Ladies’ choice,” he says, walking over to the replicator._

_“What do you think, sweetheart?” Abby asks Clarke, bouncing her on her hip. “Should we make daddy eat broccoli again?” Clarke nods emphatically, and Abby shrugs at Jake. “Her mother’s daughter,” she says with a triumphant smile._

 

* * *

“I miss your mom,” Raven sighs as she relaxes on Clarke’s couch, Octavia’s feet in her lap. Clarke rolls her eyes and scratches at Octavia’s scalp, her head resting in Clarke’s lap. 

“She’s been gone for less than a day,” Clarke says, “I don’t even miss her yet.” 

“You never miss your mom,” Octavia says, her eyes still closed. “Didn’t you once go like, eight months without speaking to her?” Clarke bounces her leg and disturbs Octavia’s peace, earning herself a scowl from the Bajoran. 

“We sent written messages,” Clarke defends. 

“Uh, yeah, like one every ten weeks,” Raven says. “I’m pretty sure I actually spend more time communicating on subspace with our dear Surgeon General than you do.” 

“That’s because you want to get in her scrubs,” Octavia says. 

Raven sighs again, “Yes, yes I do.” 

“Okay, that’s it,” Clarke says forcing Octavia to sit up. “Both of you, get out. I do not need to hear this.” She waves her hands at them, shooing them to the door. 

“You’re so uptight, doc,” Raven complains as Clarke opens the door for them. 

“Good _night_ ,” Clarke says, shaking her head at them as they walk backwards down the hall, making obscene hand gestures at her. Clarke closes the door and pinches the bridge of her nose. She hates her friends. 

No, she doesn’t. 

But right now, she kind of does. 

She goes and changes into some more comfortable clothing, replicating herself a salad and a warm apple cider. She sits at her table and eats slowly, glad to have a moment of solitude and silence. Part of her is glad her mother is finally off the station. When she was here, it was like there was a constant presence over her shoulder, even if hovering over her daughter was a secondary concern in Abby’s mind. But this was also one of the most pleasant visits she’s had with her mom for a long time. Clarke wasn’t lying to Raven, she doesn’t miss her mom yet, but for some reason she thinks she’s going to miss her more than she has before. 

Finishing off her salad and putting the empty bowl in the replicator, Clarke looks around her quarters for something to do. Her eyes fall on the pile of old, untouched sketchbooks. It was more habit than anything that made her bring them along to this assignment, and unpack them onto her desk. She walks over and runs her fingers over the cover of her most recently used book. She picks it up, opening it and feeling the stiffness of the spine from more than two years of disuse. A pencil falls out from between the pages, and Clarke grabs it before it can fall to the ground. She looks at the last sketch in the book. It’s a rough rendition of a forest, tall pine trees reaching up to a starless sky. She can’t remember why she drew it, or where it’s supposed to be, but she smiles fondly at it anyways. Clarke grips the pencil in her left hand and sits on the couch. She tuck her feet underneath her and props the book open on her thighs, turning to a blank page. 

Apparently her mind is equally as blank. The chime of her door saves her from having to think up something to draw. She closes the sketchbook and tosses it on the coffee table. 

“Come on in,” Clarke says, ready to face off with Raven again. Except that it isn’t Raven, and by now Clarke thinks she should stop being surprised when Lexa shows up unannounced at her door. 

“May I come in?” Lexa asks, and maybe Lexa also needs to stop being surprised that Clarke always answers the door. 

“Of course,” Clarke answers. She pats the couch, and Lexa comes and sits next to her. Clarke smiles at the few inches Lexa leaves between them. They sit comfortably in silence, and Clarke can feel Lexa’s presence next to her like a wave of electricity, and every little movement she makes is like a small shock to Clarke’s side. 

“What is that?” Lexa breaks the silence, gesturing at the abandoned sketchbook. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Clarke says, her cheeks heating up, “just an old sketchbook I was flipping through.” Lexa nods, staring at it curiously. 

“May I?” She asks, nodding at the book. Clarke hesitates. “You can say no, Clarke,” Lexa reassures her with a gentle smile. Clarke bites her lip, but leans forward and grabs the sketchbook, handing it to Lexa. “Thank you,” the Trill says, letting her fingers brush Clarke’s as she takes the book. 

Most of the first pages are filled with unimportant practice sketches, everyday objects and still life studies. There are a few nature scenes mixed in, and Clarke smiles at a rough sketch of Raven that shows up. 

“These are beautiful, Clarke,” Lexa says softly. “You truly have a gift.” Clarke looks down at her hands, hoping to hide her blush. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. 

“Who is this?” Lexa asks, pointing to a sketch of a floppy-haired young man. Clarke’s heart squeezes in her chest, and she clears her throat before answering.

“That’s Finn,” she says. “Lieutenant Finn Collins.” There are a few pages of Finn, Finn laughing, Finn smiling, Finn looking pensive, Finn making some crazy face just to make her laugh.

“He is special to you,” Lexa observes.

Clarke shrugs. “He was, once.”

“May I ask what happened?” Lexa says, staring down at a drawing of Finn giving her his typical boyish grin.

“He died,” Clarke says bluntly. “Line of duty.”

Lexa nods. “I am sorry.” Clarke nods back, and Lexa closes the book, placing it on the couch. “I would never wish the pain of losing a loved one on anyone.” Clarke feels Lexa’s hand nudge hers in the space between them, and Clarke lets their fingers weave together. “Did he die well?”

Clarke looks up and meets Lexa’s eyes, the question in them sincere. “He died protecting people,” Clarke says, “it was what he joined Starfleet for.”

“He sounds very honourable,” Lexa comments. Clarke nods. They sit in silence again, and Clarke lets Lexa’s thumb rubbing across the back of her hand soothe her. Clarke shifts closer to Lexa, leaning against her side, and drawing more comfort from her body heat and the smell of pine and whatever soaps Lexa uses.

“Thank you,” Clarke whispers, tilting her head to press a lingering kiss to the underside of Lexa’s jaw. Lexa just squeezes her hand in acknowledgement. Clarke clears her throat and sits up, brushing some hair out of her eyes with her free hand. “Was there a reason you came by tonight?”

“Oh, no,” Lexa stutters slightly, endearing her even more to Clarke, “I was simply walking by and thought that you might want some company.” Clarke raises an eyebrow. “And I thought I could repay the favour you did me this morning.”

“It was just coffee, Lexa,” Clarke says with a small laugh, “let it go.”

“The coffee was the icing on the cake, as they say,” Lexa says, “I really just meant the company and good conversation.” Clarke rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulder into Lexa’s.

“Get used to it,” Clarke says, “I much prefer having my morning coffee and conversation with you over having it with Murphy.” Lexa smiles and her gaze flickers down to Clarke’s lips before she seems to shake herself back to control.

“I’m glad to hear I place at least higher than Lieutenant Murphy,” Lexa mutters, leaning forward slightly. Clarke leans in, and brushes their lips together briefly, smirking when she hears Lexa’s small intake of breath. “Clarke,” Lexa breathes out, almost sounding like a warning.

“Yes, Lexa?” Clarke asks innocently, their breath mingling in the minute space between them. Lexa leans forward and tries to capture Clarke’s lips with hers, but Clarke leans back, making Lexa chase her. She’s pleased for all of two seconds before Lexa gives her a smirk and pulls a her legs, causing Clarke to fall back onto the couch, Lexa hovering over her.

“Whoops,” Lexa says, still smirking. Clarke rolls her eyes and drapes her arms around Lexa’s neck and pulling her into a deep kiss. Clarke sighs into the kiss as Lexa’s hips drop to press against hers, and she smiles as the woman above her moans into her mouth at the same feeling. The kiss turns more heated, faster, a mess of tongues and lips, teeth accidentally clacking together. Both women laugh when Lexa’s arms give out at a particularly bold swipe of Clarke’s tongue, and Clarke pushes Lexa into a sitting position, moving to straddle her lap. Lexa’s hands hold Clarke’s hips gently, and they rest their foreheads together.

“This actually was not what I had in mind when I came over,” Lexa says, leaning into the hand that Clarke has cupped against her jaw.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Clarke scoffs. Lexa squeezes Clarke’s hip and the doctor squirms above her.

“It was not,” Lexa insists, “I simply wished to see you. This is not a necessary activity for me to enjoy your company, Clarke.”

“Oh, so you want to stop?” Clarke says, leaning back and making to stand up. Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke and pulls her back onto her lap, holding her tightly against her body. Clarke laughs, burying her face in Lexa’s neck, her hair tickling Clarke’s nose. She gently scratches the back of Lexa’s neck and wiggles her hips teasingly. She leans back and presses a quick kiss to Lexa’s lips, enjoying the way the Commander follows her as she pulls away.

Clarke runs her hands over Lexa’s biceps, feeling the subtle strength underneath her uniform jacket. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” Clarke whispers into Lexa’s ear, unzipping her jacket and helping her out of it.

“You seem to think that whenever I am anything but naked,” Lexa comments, running her hands up Clarke’s sides. Clarke shrugs, leaning back in and kissing her, tugging on her full bottom lip with her teeth. Lexa’s hands slide under her shirt and rest on her ribs, gripping her sides as Clarke soothes the bite with her tongue. Her hands move to Clarke’s back, and as she’s about to make a move to remove Clarke’s bra, the door chimes.

Clarke springs off Lexa like she’s sprouted quills, and Lexa quickly stands, straightening out her clothes.

“Jacket,” Clarke hisses at her, and Lexa quickly grabs her jacket from where it’s been tossed over the back of the couch. After giving her a once-over, Clarke nods and goes to answer the door.

“Wait,” Lexa says, grabbing her hand.

“What?”

Lexa straightens out Clarke’s hair, and then presses a very swift kiss to her cheek. “Messy,” she explains. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Come in,” she says, and the doors open to reveal Bellamy standing in the entrance. He steps inside and looks at the two of them with a curious eye.

“Major Blake,” Lexa greets, and Clarke wishes that her authoritative commander voice didn’t give her a shiver right down her spine.

“Good evening, Commander,” Bellamy returns, “Clarke.”

“What’s uh, what’s up Bell?” Clarke asks, and she’s all of a sudden hyperaware of how awkward they must look, just standing around her quarters.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to get a drink,” Bellamy says, “but I can see you’re busy.”

“We aren’t busy,” Clarke says, “just talking.” She looks to Lexa for support.

“Yes,” Lexa says, “we were just discussing the next senior staff meeting.”

“Just going over some stuff,” Clarke adds. “No big deal.”

Bellamy looks at her like she’s lost her mind, and honestly she feels a little like she has.

“I’d love to get a drink,” Clarke says, trying to steer the conversation away from her and Lexa.

Bellamy smiles. “Great, how about we meet in the mess in fifteen?”

“Yeah, I should probably change out of this,” Clarke nods, and she knows she’s nodding too much but she seems to have lost control over her most basic motor functions. She looks over at Lexa and stops Bellamy before he can leave. “Can we say half an hour? We have a few more things to finish discussing, and you know how slow I am at getting ready.”

“Sure thing, Princess,” Bellamy teases her. He leaves with a respectful nod to Lexa, and then the doors close behind him and both women heave a sigh of relief.

“Princess?” Lexa asks, smiling as Clarke grabs her by the hand and tugs her along to her bedroom.

“We can sit around and discuss unfortunate childhood nicknames if you want,” Clarke says, shimmying out of her pants as Lexa drapes her jacket on a nearby chair. “Or we could do a lot less talking.” She pulls her shirt up and over her head, tossing it in a corner and sitting on her bed.

Lexa smiles. “Less talking it is.”

 

* * *

 

_“Focus, Lexa,” Anya reminds her, grabbing the child’s chin and turning her head gently back towards the holo screen. Lexa huffs and stares at the equation on the screen._

_“I don’t know, Anya, it’s too hard,” Lexa whines. “Can we go outside please?”_

_“It is not too hard,” Anya says. “Look at it. You can do this. Would I lie to you?” Lexa looks up at her mentor’s face and smiles. Anya carefully schools her features to stay impassive, but the gap-toothed grin Lexa is giving her is contagious, and she struggles to keep her mouth from twitching up at the corners. So she raises a stern eyebrow and Lexa refocuses on the equation._

_“Is this where you carry a number?” Lexa asks. Anya nods, and watches as Lexa carefully inputs the correct answer._

_“Well done, Lexa,” Anya praises. Lexa smiles and Anya messes up the child’s hair._

_“Can we go outside now?”_

 

* * *

 

Clarke is sitting at her desk in sickbay, running through some clerical work, when Raven comes bursting in and points an accusatory finger at her. She waits to see if Raven is going to speak, but the engineer just stands there, pointing.

“Can I help you with something, Raven?” Clarke prompts, shutting off her computer screen.

“You had sex!”

Clarke’s heart starts, and she feels an underboob panic sweat start. She clears her throat and tries to look innocent. “No, I haven’t had sex,” she denies, “but thanks for being creepy as hell.”

“Oh please, you’ve been in an uncharacteristically good mood recently,” Raven says, “and you’re basically fucking glowing.”

“I’m not pregnant, how would I be glowing?” She says, hoping to throw Raven off her back a bit.

“People who are getting laid also glow, it’s science,” Raven says, waving the comment away with her hand. “Stop trying to deny it, I know you’re gettin’ it on the reg.”

“Just because you aren’t getting laid and you’re miserable about it, doesn’t mean anyone else who is happy is necessarily getting laid,” Clarke states. Raven rolls her eyes.

“I could get laid if I wanted to,” she says, flipping Clarke off.

“Then go get laid.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Okay.”

“Great.” Raven turns to leave but then shakes her head and spins back around. “Stop distracting me! Who is it?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “It’s no one, Raven. Has it ever occurred to you that you’re just wrong about this?”

Raven backs away slowly. “I’m never wrong, Clarke. Raven Reyes always gets her man.” Clarke watches her go with relief and a little bit of concern for her friend’s sanity. She rolls her chair over to a blank screen and looks at her reflection.

“‘Glowing’ my ass,” Clarke mumbles, shaking her head at her reflection.

 

* * *

 

Raven carefully pulls out a deuterium cartridge and looks it over. She sighs and turns to speak to the freighter captain who is hovering behind her.

“This cartridge is totally busted,” Raven says. “Your ship can’t run without deuterium. I can have some replacements made up for you in no time.” Raven smiles at the captain, who nods.

“Thank you, Chief Reyes,” Luna says, taking the cartridge from the engineer. “I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me.”

“It’s not trouble at all, really,” Raven says with a shrug, “I haven’t been able to work on a ship like this in such a long time. I didn’t realize that anyone was actually still piloting DY-500 class freighters.”

Luna smiles, patting the wall behind her. “She’s a good ship, Chief,” she defends, “besides, with my modifications, she runs fast and efficient.” 

“I’d noticed some tweaks to the engine,” Raven comments. “Did you do all this yourself?” Luna nods, and Raven lets out a low whistle. “I’m impressed, captain. I didn’t peg you for an engineer, considering the help you needed from me.” She smiles cheekily to let the captain know she’s joking.

“I’ll admit that I’m not as well-versed in the finer details of engineering,” Luna says wryly. “But even if I were, the minute you showed up I would have had to play dumb. It’s not every day that a repair crew is led by such a beautiful officer.”

Raven quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head. “You’re forward. I like that.” Luna smirks back, and nods at the ship’s open bay door.

“So where can a girl get a decent meal around here?”

 

* * *

 

Lexa grunts as her back hits the stone wall behind her. The Jem’Hadar advances, grabbing her by the front of her shirt, Lexa quickly breaks his grip and ducks under his outstretched arms, grabbing the back of his head and slamming it forward into the stone. While he staggers, she kicks the back of his knee, forcing him to his knees. She grabs the knife strapped to her waist and drives it into the space where his shoulder meets his neck.

The hologram disappears, and Lexa stands over the empty space, panting.

“Sloppy,” Titus says from where he stands on the upper rock ledge. Lexa looks up at him and nods., although she would rather bring him into the ring and see how sloppy she looks while she’s slamming his face into a rock.

“I beat him,” she says instead.

“You barely defeated him,” Titus argues. “All of this time with Starfleet has made you soft, Lexa. Your reliance on their technology has made you forget your teachings.” Lexa grits her teeth, shifting her jaw side to side to hold back the flood of anger she’s feeling in her chest like a hot fire. “We will continue until you have proven to me that you have not forgotten how to fight like Heda.”

Another Jem’Hadar appears in front of her, and Lexa rolls her shoulders, containing a grimace at the aching pain in her back.

She disarms the hologram easily, twisting his wrist until the weapon he holds clatters to the ground. She kicks it away, and uses her grasp on the Jem’Hadar’s wrist to twist his arm. She bends it backwards, hearing a pop as his elbow dislocates. She pulls on his arm, driving her other elbow into his ribs, then quickly grabbing his head and driving her knee into the front of his skull. The hologram collapses and disappears.

“Good!” Titus calls from above. “Continue.”

Three Klingons appear across the cavern, as well as a pair of swords on the ground in front of her. Lexa grabs the swords, stretching her hands over their hilts. She raises them and sets herself in a battle-ready stance. The Klingons raise their bat’leths and rush towards her, their fierce war cries echoing off the rock walls. She deflects the first strike, using the Klingon’s momentum against him, slashing him across the back as he staggers by. The second strike comes from her left, and the bat’leth nicks her arm. She snarls and whirls to face the Klingon, blocking his next blow. She zeroes in on the wide open space below his weapon and lifts her leg, kicking him in the gut and sending him sprawling across the ground. A quick dash forward allows her to stab him in the chest, causing the hologram to disappear.

A sudden strike comes from behind, hitting Lexa on the back of the head and sending her to her knees. Another blow, and Lexa drops her swords, having to catch herself on her hands. Her vision is blurry, and she has to crawl on the dirt, blinking away spots. She scrambles away as quickly as she can, grabbing a rock from the ground and flipping onto her back. The final Klingon advances, her bat’leth coming down towards Lexa. The Commander rolls away, using the sharp edge of the rock to deliver a strike to the Klingon’s calf. A quick twist, another dodge, and Lexa sweeps the Klingon’s legs out from under her. Still gripping the rock, Lexa climbs on top of the Klingon, driving the rock against her temple. The hologram disappears from under her, and Lexa collapses, tossing the rock away.

“Sloppy.”

Lexa struggles to her feet, blinking away the remaining spots in her vision, bracing herself against the wall as she sways on the spot.

“We will increase your schedule,” Titus says, walking down the sloped rock. Lexa watches as he grabs two spears and throws one at her feet. She leans down and grabs it, squeezing her eyes shut as her head rushes, her vision going black. Titus comes into focus as she opens her eyes, and her breath leaves her in a rush as the butt of Titus’s spear slams into her sternum. She stumbles back and hits the wall. Titus is a familiar opponent, and Lexa doesn’t need to have clear vision or breath in her lungs to know what he’ll do next.

Titus always goes for the kill.

Lexa ducks the swing that comes to her head, and she sweeps forward with her spear, making contact with Titus’s knee. She pushes herself off the wall and swings again, striking his hip. His spear hits her ribs, and Lexa takes a step closer, flipping her spear up and smacking Titus’s chin. The man stumbles back and drops his spear, raising his hands in surrender. Lexa’s triumph is dampened by the pains that radiate from all parts of her body.

“We will train again tomorrow.”

Titus leaves the holodeck, and Lexa falls onto her knees, tossing her spear to the ground. Taking deep, slow breaths that cause her ribs to ache with a flashing pain, she closes her eyes and waits until the pounding of her head dwindles to a dull throb. Carefully, slowly, she stands up and calls for the holodeck exit, stepping out of the dimly lit simulated environment and into the bright lights of the station. The sounds of the shop construction carry up to her from the lower level of the Promenade, and Lexa grimaces at the loud noises. Ignoring her pain, she straightens her posture and begins the slow walk to sickbay.

When she arrives, neither Lt. Murphy nor Clarke are there to greet her. She walks over to an empty examination bed, and sits down, leaning back against the wall with a sigh of relief. Her eyes flutter closed, and Lexa takes the quiet atmosphere of sickbay as an “okay” from the universe to take a rest. It’s only seconds before she’s fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

Clarke inspects Raven’s leg, and winces as her friend hisses in pain.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Raven,” Clarke says. “You’ve needed surgery for years. You’re at the maximum dosage for pain meds that being on active duty can allow, and your cortical stimulator is working at maximum.” The doctor wheels her chair back and grabs Raven’s pants from the table behind her.

“And I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve told very other doctor,” Raven says, “I don’t want surgery.” She catches the pants that Clarke tosses at her, and gingerly stands beside the bed. Clarke watches as the engineer tries to hide the way her face twists in pain as she puts weight on her bad leg.

“I’m not going to prescribe you any more drugs,” Clarke says, holding her ground. “There are options, Raven. The best case scenario is that I can get in there and fix your leg, no complications. It’s not the easiest solution, you have no idea how much damage you’ve done to your leg all these years by ignoring your body’s pain.” Raven takes a deep breath and leans back on the bed, lifting the weight off her bad leg. She opens her mouth to retaliate, but Clarke holds up her hand before she can speak. “In my professional opinion, your best option is amputation and a prosthetic. Your quality of life will go up, we can get you off those pain meds, and you’ll be able to do so much more than you can right now.”

“My quality of life is fine,” Raven argues. 

“I had to transport you to sickbay.” 

“I’m not letting you cut my leg open or off!” 

Clarke sighs as Raven pushes off the bed, limping away as quickly as the pain allows. Clarke watches her go, not feeling like chasing after Raven when she’s this worked up. 

“You’ve got a patient, Clarke!” Raven calls from the main room. Getting to her feet and walking out the door, Clarke tries to smother the flutter in her chest at seeing Lexa asleep on an exam bed, her mouth hanging slightly open. Grabbing her tricorder, Clarke gently nudges Lexa awake.  Her eyelids lift slowly, blinking rapidly as she adjusts to the lighting.

“Hey,” Clarke smiles. Lexa smiles back, and Clarke’s heart runs a marathon in her chest.

“Hello, Clarke,” she says, her voice scratchy from sleep. Clarke bites her bottom lip, her eyes stuck on Lexa, until she catches herself and looks away, biting back the ridiculous smile that’s taking over her lips. Distracting herself by turning on her tricorder and scanning Lexa, the smile quickly falls.

“What the hell happened to you?” Clarke asks. Lexa moves to sit up, and Clarke gently places a hand on her back, helping her into a better sitting position.

“I was training in the holodeck.” Lexa winces as she breathes too deeply.

“You know that we have safety parameters for this exact reason, right?”

“If you go through your training never knowing what it feels like to be struck, then you will not be prepared for the pain when it comes in a real conflict.”

Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.” She stands, grabbing an osteo-regenerator and standing in front of Lexa. She ignores the completely unprofessional way her stomach soars as she stands between Lexa’s legs, points at her shirt and says, “off.”

Lexa’s eyes widen.

“Not like - just, I need to get access to your ribs,” Clarke stutters, looking up at the ceiling and trying to will away to flush in her cheeks. Lexa nods, flustered, and she slowly pulls off her top. Clarke clears her throat and adjusts her grip on the regenerator, running it over Lexa’s ribs.

“It’s cold,” the Commander complains. Clarke rolls her eyes, reaching around to run the instrument over Lexa’s back. Her mouth is dangerously close to Lexa’s bare shoulder. Two passes over her spine, and Clarke pulls back. She exchanges her tool for a dermal regenerator, and runs it over the gash on Lexa’s arm.

“Okay, I’m going to give you some neural dampening drugs so that you can go and let your body fix this concussion,” Clarke says. “I’ll also prescribe a healing enhancer to speed the process along, but you have to take them both and actually rest long enough to let it work.” Lexa nods, her eyes following Clarke as the doctor orders up the necessary medications. Lexa pulls on her shirt with much more ease than she had removed it, and gratefully accepts the drugs Clarke hands her, reading the labels for something to do other than look at Clarke.

“Thank you, Clarke,” she says softly.

“One more thing.” Lexa looks up and meets the doctor’s concerned eyes.

“Anything.”

Clarke’s heart stutters. “Next time you decide to go all Ultimate Fight Club on the holodecks, please keep the safety parameters on.” Lexa smiles. “I don’t have time to keep on patching you up.”

Lexa looks around the empty sickbay. “Yes, you seem very busy.” Clarke raises her eyebrows at the Trill’s attitude. Lexa mirrors the look, and they break into smiles simultaneously.

“What were you training for?” Clarke asks, breaking the brief silence, her voice sounding small in the space between them. She busies her hands with storing away the medical tools.

“One cannot grow complacent in times of peace,” Lexa answers. “Failure to stay prepared and vigilant is often the downfall of a leader.” Clarke looks over at the Commander, her eyebrows pulling together at the middle. Lexa clears her throat, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I should leave you now. You’re very busy.” The Commander turns to leave, but Clarke crosses the space between them quickly and grabs her by the wrist. She spares a glance at the door, and when she’s satisfied that there’s no one around, she cups Lexa’s cheek and kisses her quickly. Lexa’s eyes are still closed when Clarke pulls back, and the doctor grins.

“What was that for?” Lexa asks, her eyes fluttering open.

Clarke shrugs, dropping her hand back to her side. “Just…kissing it better.” The smile that Lexa beams at her is stunning, a rare smile that shows off her teeth, and Clarke swoons. Just a little. She’s a decorated Starfleet officer. It takes more than a pretty smile to knock her off her feet.

Without warning, Lexa steps forward and places a soft kiss to Clarke’s cheek.

And Clarke feels like she’s flying.

“Have a good day, doctor,” Lexa says, walking to the door. Clarke can’t seem to make words come out of her mouth, so she just smiles and nods back. Once the Trill is out of sight, Clarke collapses into her desk chair, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath. Her hands tremble, so she clasps them together tightly. It’s exciting, being with Lexa. But it’s terrifyingly easy, and Clarke can feel it all spiralling quickly out of her control.

And maybe she’s okay with that.

“Fuck,” Clarke breathes, “I need a drink.”

 

* * *

 

_Stardate 61890.3._

Lexa watches through her ready-room windows as Titus’s ship flies away from the docking ring. Relief washes over her and lifts a huge weight off her shoulders. Her responsibility doesn’t leave with Titus, but at least she gets to walk around without feeling like she’s got his eyes on her at all times. Just a little bit of breathing room.

Once the ship jumps into warp speed, Lexa makes her way out to OPs. Many of the officers she has on duty now are the ones who grate on her nerves most. Ens. Jordan is at the comm, swivelling restlessly in his chair, his feet making a small scraping noise against the floor. JrLT. Murphy is at TAC, sniffling. Lexa thanks her lucky stars that Lt. Green is her science officer in OPs, because he simply sits quietly at his station and does as he’s told without distracting his fellow officers.

She makes the rounds, checking with each officer that their stations are up to regulation standards.

“Lieutenant Murphy,” Lexa says as she finishes his inspection, “if you insist on making that noise with your nose,I would suggest you take a trip to sickbay and stay there until your afflictions entirely cured.”

“I’m no longer on medical rotation,” Murphy retorts. Lexa folds her hands behind her back and tilts her chin up.

_Insubordination will not be tolerated. The unloyal must be eliminated._

“Congratulations, lieutenant,” she says evenly, digging her nails into palms to fight the pieces that have started ringing in her head. “You’ve just been returned to medical rotation indefinitely. I’ll have someone relive your post here immediately.” Murphy scowls at her, and she waits for his reaction.

_No one defies Heda._

His mouth opens once, twice, then he clamps his jaw shut and steps back from TAC, stepping around her to get in the turbo lift.

“Mr. Jordan, please get Lieutenant Blake up here to take over TAC,” Lexa orders. “And have Lieutenant Commander T’Al report to OPs as well. I’ll be in my ready-room. Lieutenant Commander T’Al will have OPs when she arrives.”

Lexa sinks onto the couch in her ready-room, her head heavy. Her ears ring with the soundless voices flying around in her head.

_Heda before anything else, Lexa. Do not forget your first duty is not to this Federation._

Lexa rubs at her temples, practicing the breathing exercises that Anya taught her. She visualizes a wall, a locked door. Slowly, the voices ebb, and Lexa is left alone with the sound of her breathing.

 

* * *

_Stardate 61895.8_

Clarke laughs as Lexa struggles to pull on a t-shirt, her messy hair sticking up every which way.

“It is impolite to laugh,” Lexa scolds, pulling her underwear up her legs. Clarke bites her lip, eyes following the piece of fabric. “And to stare.”

Clarke kneels at the end of the bed and grabs the hem of Lexa’s shirt, tugging her closer. She puts her hands on either side of Lexa’s face, running her thumbs over her spots. Lexa’s eyes drift closed and she tilts her head, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s left palm.

“I’m sorry I laughed at you,” Clarke says, smiling as the woman in front of her raises an eyebrow. “And for staring. Next time I’ll be sure to avert my eyes and be more mindful of your Victorian sensibilities.”

“I do not know what that means,” Lexa says, “but if you are mocking me, you will pay for it.”

Clarke smirks. “Oh really?” Lexa nods, and then suddenly lunges forward and tackles Clarke onto her back, making the doctor squeal in surprise. Lexa presses overly-enthusiastic kisses to her neck, her fingers tickling up and down Clarke’s side. Clarke wraps her legs around Lexa’s hip, her own hands tangling in her hair.

Lexa lifts her head, red-faced and breathless. Clarke’s heart skips at the easy smile on Lexa’s lips, the sparkle in her eyes.

“Are you finished mocking me?”

Clarke leans up and Lexa leans back, so Clarke’s lips land messily on the bottom of Lexa’s chin. She huffs, “Fine. I’m done mocking you, now kiss me like you mean it.” Lexa’s smile widens, and she leans down, capturing Clarke’s lips with her own. Clarke’s whole body tries to arch up, to get closer to Lexa’s.

Lexa pulls away. “How was that?”

“I think you could have tried harder.”

“Your breathlessness would indicate otherwise, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and tugs Lexa down for another kiss.

 

* * *

_Stardate 61899.3_

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

Clarke looks up at Octavia from her reading. “What?”

Octavia sighs and puts down the report she was pretending to be working on, leaning back on the couch. “I’ve been seeing someone.” Clarke nods slowly, closing her book. “And from the first date, it just…it feels so _meant to be_.” Octavia sighs, a bonafide lovesick sigh. “So I guess I’m just asking to see if I’m being crazy, or if maybe we really are soulmates, or meant to be together.”

Clarke pauses before answering. She speaks slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I used to think Finn was my soulmate. He was… _everything._ Just the perfect person to complement me.” Octavia smiles at her, encouraging her to go on. “But then he fell apart. _We_ fell apart. So why would the universe put us together and then tear us apart?”

Octavia frowns. “You didn’t really answer the question.” She tucks her feet up underneath her. “And what happened to Finn,” she continues, “well, that was just awful. But, Clarke, this guy…he is so perfect.”

Clarke shrugs. “Just because I don’t believe in soulmates doesn’t mean that there aren’t people who are more suited for each other than others.”

“But am I crazy? It’s barely been two weeks and I think I love him.” Clarke chokes on her breath and coughs. Octavia leans over and rubs her back. “You think I’m crazy,” the Bajoran says, dejected.

Clarke steadies her breathing, and tries to ignore the jump in her chest when she says, “No, O, I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”

 

* * *

_Stardate 61906.8_

“Lexa, your dog is licking my leg.”

Lexa looks at where Clarke and Gustus are begrudgingly (on Clarke’s part) sharing the couch. Gustus’s tongue is hanging out of his mouth as he tilts his head at Lexa, putting on his most innocent face. Clarke’s got a grimace painted across her features, and Lexa holds back a laugh.

“Gustus, don’t lick Clarke,” Lexa chides, turning back to keep scrambling the eggs in front of her. “Clarke, if you don’t want him to lick your legs, you need to wear pants so he cannot get to you.”

Clarke stands up and walks up to Lexa, wrapping her arms around her waist from behind and placing a kiss to the side of Lexa’s neck.

“So you’re saying I should go put pants on?” Clarke asks, gently biting down. Lexa hums, tilting her head to give Clarke better access. Lexa turns off the heat beneath the eggs and turns in Clarke’s arms, looking her up and down.

“No, I would definitely prefer that you keep your pants off,” she says. Clarke grins, and Lexa presses their foreheads together, looping her arms around Clarke’s neck. They stand in silence for a moment, and Clarke sighs softly. “You have very blue eyes,” Lexa mumbles. “They are…very beautiful.” Clarke blushes and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Lexa’s mouth. They breathe each other in, Lexa’s soft exhales tickling Clarke’s skin. Clarke kisses her again, softly, and then again, lips barely making contact before she pulls back.

Clarke closes her eyes as Lexa’s nose rubs against hers. “We should eat,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. Lexa nods, humming an agreement. Clarke steps back and clears her throat, dropping her arms from Lexa’s waist. “Alright, Commander, serve up those eggs.” 

Lexa smiles as she piles eggs onto two plates, leading Clarke to sit with her at the table. They eat in silence, Clarke amusing herself by running her foot up and down Lexa’s leg, smirking when she hears her breath hitch. 

“How are the eggs?” Lexa asks. She looks over at Clarke’s empty plate and corrects herself. “How _were_ the eggs?”

Clarke nods appreciatively. “Don’t judge me, _someone_ wore me out earlier and really increased my appetite.” She reaches over and scoops some of Lexa’s eggs onto her fork. “They’re delicious,” she says through the mouthful. Lexa scrunches her nose.

“Your table manners are lacking,” Lexa says, her voice deadpan.

“Your face is lacking.”

“I am quite certain that it is not.”

“You’re right, your face is kind of great.”

Lexa leans over and kisses Clarke, holding her face in her hands. “You are kind of great.” Clarke’s stomach does a backflip.

“Shut up and keep kissing me.”

 

* * *

 

_Stardate 61911.2_

Lexa shudders as Clarke slides back up her body, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. The doctor flops down beside Lexa, their bare arms pressed together.

“That doesn’t get old,” Clarke says, taking a deep breath and turning her head to look at the woman beside her.

“No, it certainly does not,” Lexa agrees. She flips onto her side and faces Clarke, propping her head up on her hand. “Do you…are you satisfied?”

Clarke laughs and kisses the tip of Lexa’s nose. “I am definitely satisfied, Lexa,” she says, “but thank you for asking. You’re very sweet.” She kisses Lexa firmly on the lips, then sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed.

“Are you leaving?” Lexa asks, her eyebrows drawing together. Clarke grabs her uniform from where it was tossed on the ground and starts getting dressed.

“Yeah, I’m on duty in an hour, plus I should probably shower and grab breakfast,” Clarke says, and Lexa gets up, grabbing her own uniform and getting dress alongside Clarke. “What are you doing?”

Lexa pulls her uniform undershirt on and shrugs on her jacket. “I also have duties, one of which is making sure you actually eat a real breakfast and not just a replicated cup o’ joe.” Clarke’s movements stop and she fixes Lexa with a bewildered look.

“Did you just say ‘cup o’ joe’?” 

Lexa nods. “I have been versing myself in your earth slang. Too often have you caught me off guard with your different phrases.” Clarke shakes her head and laughs. “What, did I use the term incorrectly?” Lexa asks. “A ‘cup o’ joe’ is a cup of coffee, is it not?” 

Clarke leans over and kisses Lexa’s temple. “It is, but I don’t think anyone has colloquially used that term since the 20th century, at least not outside of a replica diner,” she says. 

“Ah, I see.” Lexa cups Clarke’s jaw and kisses her in thanks. “Your clarification is much appreciated, Clarke.” 

“Anytime, Lexa,” Clarke says, still laughing a little bit. “I really have to go, though. And I’m definitely going to need a cup o’ joe if I’m going to fool anyone into thinking I got any sleep last night.” Lexa sighs, releasing her light hold on Clarke’s face. 

“You should really eat more fruits,” Lexa says as the doctor exits the bedroom. Clarke rolls her eyes and grabs her boots from beside the couch, giving Gustus a scratch behind the ears as she walks by him, curled up at one end of the couch. 

“I’ll see you later, Lexa,” she calls out behind her, pulling on her boots at the door. She turns to wave goodbye to the dog. Gustus has sat up, his ears perked up. He jumps off the couch, and Clarke watches curiously as he trots to the bedroom. Suddenly, a loud crashing noise breaks the still of the living quarters. Clarke’s heart jumps, and she can feel the blood pounding in her ears as she races back to the bedroom. 

Lexa is lying on the floor, black liquid streaming from her nose. Clarke rushes to her side, Gustus sitting alert across from her. She taps her comm badge.

“Emergency transportation, two to sickbay. Engage.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while...and this is why! Hopefully the length of this makes up for the wait, and also that the quality is good enough to warrant your attention :) huge thanks to all who commented and gave kudos, it's the source of my drive to keep writing this story. I could write it for me but that's way less fun than sharing with all of you :)


	10. Stardates 61911.2-61914.8

Clarke leans against the wall outside of the operating room, sliding down it slowly until she sits with her elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She takes a deep, rattling breath. Her eyes squeeze shut. Murphy awkwardly pats her on the shoulder, and Clarke blinks back tears. 

"You okay?" 

Clarke nods slowly. "I'm okay, Murphy." 

"It's okay if you aren't okay," he says. "You're allowed to not be okay." 

"I'm going to be okay," Clarke says softly, mostly to herself, and she pulls off her sterile gown, tossing it in the bin along with her stained gloves. Murphy follows suit, and Clarke wishes he'd stop staring at her. 

"Is there something you want to say, Lieutenant?" She says, trying to keep from snapping. 

"You did it, Clarke, she's okay," Murphy says, and this might be the kindest that Murphy has ever sounded in his life. "Everything is okay." 

"Nothing about this is okay," Clarke says, clenching her teeth. "Take the day off, it's been a long morning." 

They walk into the main area of sickbay and Clarke perches on the edge of her desk, her eyes locked on the unmoving figure in the closest examination bed. 

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stay," Murphy says. "I don't want Lieutenant Commander T'Al to see me not working, she'll make me do sanitation shifts again." He sits down in Clarke's chair and kicks his feet up on the desk. 

Clarke smiles a small, barely-there smile. "Thank you." 

"Go check her vitals before you start crying all over me," Murphy grumbles, but Clarke sees the smile that's creeping onto Murphy's generally unpleasant face. She pays him the courtesy of ignoring it, and moves on to examine Lexa. 

She looks young. Her features are relaxed, if a little pale, and Clarke has to pull her hand back from where it crept up to brush Lexa's hair from her face. 

"Okay, Commander, let's see how you're doing," Clarke says quietly. "Heart rate is good, temp is good, and BP is good." She hesitates before gently taking Lexa's wrist and taking her pulse manually. "All good. God, you just have to be the best at everything, don't you?" Clarke taps the screen above Lexa's head and takes a deep breath, looking over the stats. "Looks like Heda is doing fine, too," she breathes out with relief. 

Her moment of peace is broken by a storming Vulcan sweeping into her sickbay. LtCr T'Al practically shoves Clarke away from Lexa, gripping the edge of the bed with white knuckles hands. 

"How is she?" 

"She's doing very well," Clarke says, watching as Anya focuses her eyes intensely on Lexa, running up and down her body with, if Clarke didn't know Vulcans any better, what looks like panic. "She's stubborn. And strong. She'll be just fine." 

Anya nods. "When she turned fourteen, Gustus allowed her to drink bloodwine with him. She ended up drinking almost an entire bottle. I have never seen someone of such small stature expel so much fluid from their body." She straightens up and faces Clarke. "Lexa is the strongest person I know." 

Clarke nods. "She gave us a bit of a scare." 

"You had best get used to it, doctor." 

 

* * *

Lexa is still unconscious by dinner. Clarke sits at her desk, trying to stay focused on not getting spaghetti sauce on her uniform, and desperately trying to stop looking over at Lexa every four seconds. 

A welcome distraction comes in the form of the human tornado Octavia. Clarke watches as she whirls in and throws herself into a nearby chair. Clarke sets down her giant bowl of carbs and swivels in her seat to look at her friend. 

“Rough day at the office?” She asks.

Octavia groans. “Lieutenant Commander T’Al had me tracking Azgeda ship movements all day.” She leans back and flops her arms so they hang off the side of the chair in the most dramatic fashion. “I don’t know what she was looking for, it all looks completely nonthreatening to me.” 

“Sounds awful,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes. 

“And _now_ she wants me to spend my night analyzing all the data I gathered,” Octavia continues, ignoring Clarke, “but there’s nothing to analyze! They’re just flying about aimlessly, it’s ridiculous. Maybe if she just _told_ me what she was looking for, but no, it’s all mystery and intrigue with her. Let’s not tell the lowly Lieutenant what this stupid assignment is all about, that would just be ridiculous!” She lets out a final huff of exasperation, and looked over at Clarke with wide, pleading eyes. 

“Oh, no,” Clarke says, “put those eyes away, I am not doing your homework for you.”

“ _Please_ , Clarke!” Octavia begs. “You’ll probably see whatever it is she’s looking for in, like, a minute, then you can get right back to that disgusting amount of spaghetti, and I’ll be on my way. Please?” 

Clarke sighs and shakes her head at herself. “Fine.”

Octavia claps her hands together once in celebration, rubbing them in an altogether too nefarious fashion as she bounces over to Clarke’s desk console. The charts pop up and Clarke lets out a low whistle.

“This is a lot of data, O,” she says, “you really did a good job collecting it.”

“I know.”

Clarke looks over the charts. She can recognize some basic tracks, shipping and transport. There are some obvious civilian vessels that move much more slowly than any military or government ship would.

“Is there any data from other days?” Clarke asks. Octavia nods, pulling up charts going back to the first encounter with Nia. She looks over them, seeing the same patterns. Almost the exact same patterns. “Shit.” Clarke stands quickly, shoving her chair back and grabbing her uniform jacket. “O, can you watch sickbay? Lexa shouldn’t wake up, she hasn’t all day, but _if_ she does, page me immediately!”

“What are you- Clarke!” Octavia calls after her. “And she’s gone.”

 

* * *

Clarke strides into OPS with the calmest demeanour she can manage.

_A General never runs,_ she hears her dad’s voice echo in her head. LtCr. T’Al is sitting in the command chair, looking as nonplussed as always.

“Commander T’Al,” Clarke begins, but is immediately cut off.

“Lieutenant Commander, doctor. I do not take the mantle of Commander from Heda.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, “that’s fine. But I need to speak with you. In private.” Anya nods, rising from the chair and leading Clarke to Lexa’s ready room. The door closes behind them, and Clarke immediately heads to the console on Lexa’s desk. She pulls up the charts and layers them all on top of each other.

“What is this?” Anya asks, leaning down to inspect the screen.

“Azgeda movements, all the data you’ve been having the officers collect,” Clarke explains. “I noticed this when Lieutenant Blake showed me her collected data, and then I crossed it with the previous collected days.”

“And did it not occur to you that I, too, would have also seen these patterns?”

“It did, but I wanted to make sure-“

“And did it not occur to you that, if I, as the first officer of this station, had seen any threat in this data, I would have reported it immediately?” Clarke clenches her jaw. “I am the first officer. Regardless of your relationship to Lexa, you are not her voice on this station. When she is incapacitated, I represent Heda’s voice.”

Clarke tries to ignore all the frustration that’s bubbling inside of her. Getting angry with a Vulcan once ever serves to cause her more ire, and Clarke knows this, but she’s had a long day, and Anya’s even tone is like nails on a chalkboard.

“Lieutenant Commander T’Al, I believe the Azgeda are emitting false ship movements,” Clarke says. Anya waits for her to continue. Clarke takes it as a sign she’s being listened to. “I don’t know how, I can’t give you an answer for that, but there’s no way that all these movements, day after day, can be so similar. I recommend that we look for unusual ship movements outside Azgeda territories.”

Anya looks at the charts. “And do you make this recommendation as a doctor, or as a decorated Lieutenant Commander?”

“I make it as a Starfleet officer.”

Clarke tries to stand tall and hold her confidence as Anya looks her over.

“The blue of that uniform does not suit you, Lieutenant Commander Griffin,” the Vulcan finally says. “I will call Starfleet Command. I would like for you to stay, and explain your reasoning to them.”

Clarke stifles her smile, and stands on Anya’s right. “Someone should go help out Lieutenant Blake in sickbay,” Clarke says.

“I will send Lieutenant Murphy,” Anya replies, “he seems to be enjoying his time away from OPs.” Clarke nods. “Also, you have a rather large spot of red sauce on your shirt, doctor.”

Clarke swears, rubbing at her shirt as she looks over at the Vulcan and swears she almost sees a smirk.

 

* * *

_Clarke stand still as Kane pins the medals to her chest._

_“Lieutenant Commander Clarke Griffin, receiving the Christopher Pike Medal of Valour for outstanding acts of bravery and leadership, as well as the Starfleet Decoration for Gallantry.”_

_Kane smiles at her. “Just take in the moment, Clarke,” he says quietly to her. “Take five minutes to stop mourning, and be proud of what you have accomplished.”_

_She nods minutely, and sees her mother’s face in the crowd, a proud smile gracing her features. But Clarke can see the loss she’s feeling reflected back in her mother’s eyes._

_“Lieutenant Raven Reyes, receiving the Starfleet Medal of Honour.”_

_Clarke looks over at Raven, who struggles to maintain her balance on her new crutches. She had been told by Abby to stay in her wheelchair, but Raven was too stubborn to listen. She wanted to be standing when she received her medal._

_“And Lieutenant Finn Collins, receiving the Purple Heart, posthumously.”_

_Clarke’s chest squeezes tight, and she looks away from Raven. She looks away from everyone, focusing on the back wall of the giant hall they’re standing in. She especially can’t look at Finn’s mother, whose shaking hands clasp the medal tightly, and who has tears streaming down her face._

_She follows Kane’s advice and tries to take her five minutes._

 

* * *

Lexa’s eyes open slowly. She first registers the annoying bright lights above her, and then a slow, aching pain that pushes through her entire body. A small groan pushes through her lips, which causes her to realize how dry her mouth is. 

“Commander?” 

Lexa turns her head towards the voice and blinks to try and clear her vision. 

“Oh shit- I mean, uh, sorry,” the voice says, and Lexa looks up the red uniform and sees Lieutenant Blake staring at her with wide eyes. “Murphy! She’s awake!” 

“Water,” Lexa croaks, and soon a straw is being pressed to her lips. She drinks greedily, and and when the cup is drained, she props herself up on her elbows. 

“Okay, Commander, I’m just going to take vitals,” Murphy says, suddenly in front of her, and Lexa looks around sickbay.

“Where is Dr. Griffin?” She asks as Murphy scans her. 

“OPs, I think,” he answers. “Blake is going to contact her, but for now you’re stuck with me.” Lexa moves to stand, but Murphy almost-gently pushes her back to the bed. “Nice try, Commander.” 

“Lieutenant Murphy, I order you to stand back and allow me to pass,” Lexa tries, hating how her voice sounds weak with disuse. 

“I’m following the doctor’s orders, which outrank yours when it comes to medical.” Murphy stops scanning her and turns off his tricorder. “You look fine to me, but I don’t want to be on the receiving end of Clarke’s wrath if she gets back and you aren’t here.” 

Lexa huffs, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. “The lights are too bright.” 

“God, this is going to be fun,” Murphy mutters, lowering the lights. 

They sit in relative silence for what feels like ages to Lexa. She feels fine, if not just a little tired. Her mind is full, and she’s already feeling stressed about what duties she’s missed while incapacitated. 

She looks over at Murphy and Blake, who sit around Clarke’s desk. 

“Lieutenant Blake,” Lexa calls out, sitting up. Blake stands and walks over quickly. “I need a uniform. Go to my quarters and get one.” Blake hesitates, but one harsh look from her commanding officer has her striding out of sickbay in no time. “Lieutenant Murphy, get me the logs from today. Starting from 0600 until the most recent.” Murphy obliges, although he moves much more slowly than Lexa would like. Eventually, he hands her a tablet, and Lexa sets about to reading.

A routine day about the station, it would seem. Except for her, much to her embarrassment.

The doors to sickbay slide open and Clarke walks in, and Lexa’s heart rate spikes, the monitor behind her beeping with betrayal. The doctor walks right over to her patient and grabs a tricorder.

“Murphy has already deemed me fine,” Lexa informs her. Clarke scoffs.

“Murphy is an idiot,” she says.

“Murphy is right here,” Murphy grumbles. 

“Shut up Murphy, you’re dismissed,” Clarke says, waving him away. He ambles out of sickbay, and once the doors shut behind him, Clarke puts down the tricorder and shoves Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa winces a little, more in shock than any actual pain. “What the hell was all that about, Lexa?”

Lexa rubs her shoulder and looks up at Clarke, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What was what all about?” She asks. 

“The bleeding, the almost dying, the seemingly miraculous recovery,” Clarke starts up, and Lexa watches with thinly veiled affection as the doctor paces in front of her. “You had internal hemorrhaging, which I fixed by the way, and your blood was black, and you almost died! It was a terrible morning, Lexa, and I didn’t even get any coffee.” 

Lexa stands, and walks over to the replicator. “Coffee, cream on the side.” She takes the replicated drink and offers it to Clarke, who looks at the coffee with confusion. 

“You did not get any coffee,” Lexa offers as an explanation. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “That’s what you got from all of that?” She takes the coffee and puts it down on the desk. Lexa nods. Clarke huffs.

“I have upset you somehow?” Lexa asks. She steps forward and bows her head slightly. “I apologize if any of my actions have-“

Clarke cuts her off with a bone crushing hug. Lexa’s arms cautiously go up and wrap around her, resting carefully on her back. “You scared me,” Clarke whispers into her shoulder, and Lexa smiles into Clarke's hair. 

“I apologize.” 

Clarke pulls back and clears her throat. Lexa loosens her arms, but only enough to let them slide down and rest her hands lightly on Clarke’s waist, waiting to see what the doctor will allow. 

“I'm going to need you to come in for daily check-ups,” Clarke says, and Lexa thinks she’s trying to be all business, so she drops her hands and holds them behind her back. 

“Yes, doctor,” she says. 

“And I need you to take it easy for at least a week.”

“Yes, doctor.” 

“And Lexa?”

“Yes, doctor?”

Clarke leans forward and kisses Lexa, slow and soft, and Lexa's eyes flutter closed. Clarke pulls back and Lexa opens her eyes, breathless. “Try not to scare me like that again.”

“Yes, doctor.”

 

* * *

_Anya watches as Lexa swings at Gustus. She’s only six years old, but Anya can already tell that the small child has a fighter’s spirit._

_Although she is very, very small._

_When the fake sparring match is over, Lexa bounds over to where Anya is lounging on a nearby rock._

_“Hello, Anya,” she says, a little out of breath. “Did you see me fight?”_

_Anya nods. “I did, Lexa. You will become a great warrior someday.”_

_“Do you think I’ll be able to defeat even Gustus?”_

_Anya looks at the hulking figure behind Lexa and kneels in front of the child. “I believe that, with enough dedication and perseverance, anyone can achieve anything they want.”_

_Lexa nods sagely. “Gustus said that you aren’t a very good Vulcan,” she says, and Anya raises her eyebrows and watches as Lexa wiggles her loose tooth with her tongue._

_“Did he say why?”_

_“He said that you have a lot of feelings.”_

_“Vulcans feel many things, Lexa, all living creatures do,” Anya explains, “but what differentiates us from the rats that crawl through the sewers is our ability to control those emotions. Do not let your feelings get the better of you.”_

_“Gustus says you are angry, because of what happened to your family,” Lexa says with all the honesty and bluntness of a child her age._

_Anya’s heart clenches and her chest flames. She counts backwards. "Yes, I am angry,” she says, “but I do not allow it to rule my life.”_

_“Sometimes I am angry that I do not get to know my parents,” Lexa admits, her bottom lip sticking out, and Anya puts a hand on her shoulder._

_“Family is not blood, Lexa,” she tries to reason. “Family is much more than that.”_

_“What does that mean?"_

_Anya looks past Lexa, and meets Gustus’s eyes. “You will figure it out soon enough, young one.”_

 

* * *

Clarke discharges Lexa the next day with strict orders that she is not to return to duty for five days. Of course, two days after being discharged, Lexa is back in OPs, having cleared herself for active duty.

“You’re the worst patient I’ve ever had,” Clarke tells Lexa that night as they lie on the couch together in Clarke’s quarters. Lexa hums from where she’s on top of Clarke, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Clarke’s neck.

“You are the best doctor I have ever had,” Lexa says, and Clarke rolls her eyes. “I feel fine, Clarke.” She lifts her head and gives Clarke her most honest eyes, a look that Clarke is coming to recognize.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Clarke says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. They both laugh and Lexa kisses Clarke, their tongues slipping against each other. Clarke sighs into the kiss, her fingers tucking up under Lexa’s shirt and tracing patterns into her back.

Lexa pulls back and Clarke loves the way her eyes open slowly, her lips still parted. “Anya tells me that you were most helpful in recognizing the deception of the Azgeda,” she says.

“Is that seriously what you’re thinking about right now?” Clarke laughs, and Lexa grins.

“No,” she admits, “but my doctor told me that I should not be participating in any high-stress activities.” She drops her hips down to roll against Clarke’s, and the woman beneath her holds back a moan. “I think this might be heading towards a high-stress activity.”

Clarke scowls at her. “That was dirty,” she accuses Lexa.

“Maybe my doctor will clear me soon,” Lexa continues, trailing her hand up Clarke’s side. 

“Sorry, stud, my libido doesn’t outweigh my medical degree,” Clarke laughs, and Lexa groans, dropping her head to bury her face in Clarke’s neck. Clarke strokes her hair, laughing at the pouting commander.

“Your professionalism is admirable, but annoying,” Lexa mumbles.

“I’ll try to be a worse doctor,” Clarke teases.

“Good,” Lexa says. She settles comfortably on top of Clarke and they both sigh, content with the other’s presence. Clarke kisses the side of Lexa’s head and she feels the Trill’s breath even out on top of her.

“Lex?” She asks, but there’s no answer. “Of course she’d fall asleep on me when I have to pee,” Clarke sighs. “Typical.” But she just wraps her arms tightly around Lexa’s body, holding her close and breathing her in.

 

* * *

_This is a call to arms to all Federation members. An attack has been launched against the Alpha quadrant. All available ships, rendezvous at Bajor and await further instruction. Repeat. This is a call to arms to all Federation members. An attack has been launched against the Alpha quadrant. All available ships, rendezvous at Bajor and await further instruction. Repeat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am so sorry this took so long. I haven't got any excuse you haven't heard before, so I'll just apologize and leave it at that. 
> 
> I have been literally blow away by the response that this story has gotten. The beautiful art, the amazingly kind comments, it's all been surreal. I can't believe that such a weird little fic that started out in my head as like one tiny scene has become so huge, both to me and to other people. 
> 
> I promise I'll be trying to update more frequently, but I don't want to make any promises I can't keep, so I just promise I'll try. 
> 
> A million thank yous to everyone reading this and leaving kudos and comments, you have no idea how happy you make me with you insanely kind words. And to everyone who made that amazing art (blindwire, clairewolfe, elphnow) (if I forgot you, please let me know!), you have no idea how amazed and blown away I am.
> 
> I know this was a short chapter, and normally I would have held out until it was longer, but you've waited long enough and shit is about to hit the fan in a whole new way for these guys. I figured they could have a moment beforehand.


	11. Stardates 62368.4 - 62370.3

_Chief Medical Officer’s log, stardate 62368.4. Captain Shumway is dead from wounds sustained in the last Azgeda attack. Commander Hayes has taken over, and we are set to rendezvous at Station Borealis with a ship that has recently come back from an intelligence gathering mission. I think everyone is looking forward to our brief respite from the front lines._

 

* * *

Clarke checks the wound on Lt. Miller’s shoulder, frowning at the slow rate it’s healing. 

“I told you to stay off active duty,” Clarke says, and Miller shrugs. 

“Commander Hayes needed me back on duty,” Miller says, “after-after the last attack, we’ve been really short-staffed.” 

“Well, we’ve got at least three days off,” Clarke says, grabbing a hypospray and pressing it into Miller’s shoulder. He hisses at the brief pinch. “You’re officially off duty. No excuses.” 

“Fine,” Miller huffs, grabbing his red uniform jacket and pulling it back on. “I’ll see you later.” Clarke nods and starts to clean up the small sickbay. 

It’s tight quarters on a Sabre class ship, and the sickbay shows it. There’s barely enough room for the three exam beds and small workstation, and the emergency surgery room is hardly bigger than a closet. As the Chief Medical officer, Clarke’s quarters are directly attached. There’s one bunk and a tiny bathroom that she gets all to herself, a fact that had Raven bitching over subspace for fifteen minutes about how she has to share sleeping quarters with five other officers.

Clarke’s chest tightens when she thinks about how she hasn’t heard from her friend in weeks. Every morning, when the casualty report is posted in the mess hall, Clarke’s palms sweat and her heart pounds until she confirms that she doesn’t know any of the names on the list. On the days that she does recognize a name, she holes herself up in sickbay and works in silence. 

“ _Commander Hayes to Dr. Griffin,_ ” the comm system cracks, and Clarke sighs, brushing her hair from her face. 

“Go ahead.”

“ _I require your presence onboard the station, conference room A._ ” 

“Yes, sir,” Clarke says. She checks over her uniform and scratches uselessly at a faint bloodstain on her sleeve. “Laundry,” she mumbles, “gotta do laundry.” 

The hallways are narrow and lit by the environmental lights rather than the red-alert lights for the first time in almost two weeks. Clarke nods at the repair crews she passes on her way to the docking bridge, her hands clenching into fists at the sight of the damaged walls. 

Conference room A is down a long corridor, one wall lined with tall windows. Clarke pauses to stare out at the vast expanse of dark space before her, the faint outline of her reflection staring back at her. She straightens her shoulders and resumes her walk to the conference room. The doors slide open and she steps inside, looking at the people already gathered around the table. 

Hayes and the acting first officer, LtCr. Graco, sit at one end of the table with the station’s commander, Captain Byrne. Clarke goes to join them, but then her eyes land on the group at the other end of the table, and her heart stutters in her chest. 

Lexa stares back at her, green eyes sharp from where they’re surrounded by black warpaint. Her hair is braided in its usual immaculate way, falling over the shoulders of her black clothing, something that looks armour-like, a red cape pinned to her right pauldron. She’s flanked by Anya and a large bearded man Clarke doesn’t recognize, both of them also clad in dark armour and warpaint. 

“Dr. Griffin, thank you for joining us,” Hayes says, and Clarke whips her head around to look at him. He nods at the seat next to Byrne, and somehow Clarke’s feet get her there. 

“What can I do for you?” Clarke asks, trying to avoid looking down the table. 

“The Commander has requested that you open your sickbay to her soldiers,” Hayes says. “I didn’t see a problem with that, but I thought I’d double check with you.” 

Clarke narrows her eyes at him. “And you couldn’t have done that over comms?” She says, exasperated. 

“I would also like to ask your advice, doctor,” Lexa speaks up, and her voice sends shivers down Clarke’s spine. 

Clarke turns her chair towards Lexa and nods. “I can do my best.” She thinks she sees Lexa’s lips twitch up slightly, but then she’s all Commander, standing and turning on the large holo screen in the middle of the table. 

“The Azgeda have been pushing our line back for months,” Lexa begins, her hands clasped behind her back. Clarke’s heart aches at the familiar sight, but she focuses her attention on the screen. “I fear that soon they will breach the blockade that Starfleet has set in place along the border of the Ferengi Alliance.” 

“That blockade will hold,” Byrne speaks up, “I’m far more worried about the defence of Bajor’s wormhole.”

“The Federation controls both sides of the wormhole,” Lexa sighs, and Clarke has the feeling they’ve been going over this for a while. “Each end is fiercely defended. The Ferengi Alliance has been placed under a weak blockade because Starfleet is insistent that the Azgeda will travel via the wormhole.” 

“It is the quickest way to reach the heart of Federation Territory,” Byrne says. 

Lexa’s jaw clenches. “Why are you so certain that _that_ is their goal?” 

She’s answered by silence, and Lexa nods, like that’s exactly what she expected. 

“If the Azgeda were concerned with speed, I believe they would have already reached their goal,” Lexa continues. “Since they have not, I am inclined to think that they are content to merely cause havoc. Pillage. If they have an ultimate goal, it is not under something as trivial as time constraints.” 

“Demoralizing their enemy so that when they finally strike, we’ve been weakened,” Clarke says, and Lexa looks at her. “It’s the oldest tactic in the book.” 

“It is good to know that not all Starfleet officers are incompetent,” Anya snarks from her seat. Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes.    


“Quiet, Anya,” Lexa snaps. She turns back to Clarke and inclines her head for Clarke to continue. 

“They’ll attack the blockade, do as much damage as they can,” Clarke says, “and then they’ll move on, and they’ll keep launching attacks until they achieve whatever it is they’re trying to do.” 

“You’re a _doctor_ ,” Graco says, his voice biting, “what do you know about military tactics?” 

Clarke grits her teeth. “Apparently more than you,” she mumbles under her breath. 

“Dr. Griffin is the one who first reported the possibility of an Azgeda attack,” Lexa says, her voice cold and commanding. “You would do well to treat her with the respect she deserves.” 

Byrne clears her throat. “So what do you suggest we do, Commander?” 

“I will make contact with Starfleet Command and present my case,” Lexa says. “Our crews will recuperate here until we receive our next orders. This is no more than a usual military operation. Surely you are capable of handling that, captain?” 

Byrne flushes, but nods, and she ends the meeting. Hayes and Graco sweep out of the room behind her. Lexa dismisses Anya and her other officer, and Clarke lingers near the replicator, pretending to go through the menu as if she isn’t already intimately familiar with replicator capabilities. 

The doors slide shut behind Anya. Clarke turns to look at Lexa, but the Trill has already rushed over, pulling Clarke into a tight hug. Clarke grunts at the contact, the hard press of Lexa’s armour uncomfortable where it digs into her ribs, but she doesn’t really give a shit, because she hasn’t seen Lexa in almost three months and she still smells a little like pine, and her hands are familiar on Clarke’s back. It feels frighteningly like coming home. 

“I have missed you, Clarke,” Lexa whispers against her ear, and Clarke nods, pulling back and holding Lexa’s face in her hands. She looks at her and thumbs at the paint around her eyes. 

“This is cute,” Clarke says with a smile, and Lexa rolls her eyes. 

“It is meant to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies,” she mumbles. 

“I can see how it might work if they’ve never seen you play tug of war with a dog,” Clarke laughs, and Lexa smiles one of her small smiles the tugs at Clarke’s heartstrings. “You still aren’t as scary as Anya.” 

“I do not believe that anyone can be as scary as Anya,” Lexa says. Clarke hums her agreement. Lexa’s hands drift along her waist, warm even through the material of her uniform. “Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

“I wish to kiss you.” 

Clarke smiles and nods, leaning forward and pulling Lexa’s face towards her, their lips coming together in a sigh of relief. It’s a short kiss, though not lacking in feeling or intention. They pull apart and rest their foreheads together. 

“Join me for dinner,” Lexa requests. “I am off-duty at twenty-hundred hours.” 

“You’re never really off duty,” Clarke reminds her with a cheeky smile. 

“For you, I can be off duty for dinner,” Lexa says, and her eyes are serious, her voice even and certain. Clarke feels a little breathless, and so she nods, placing one more kiss on Lexa’s lips. 

“I’ll see you then,” Clarke affirms, and Lexa nods. Then she’s reluctantly dropping her hands from Clarke’s waist and heading to the door, her cape sweeping behind her. She gives Clarke one last look, and then she’s through the doors. Clarke leans back against the wall behind her and exhales slowly, unsuccessfully fighting off a smile. 

 

* * *

Anya finds Clarke in sickbay, standing silently in the doorway until Clarke looks up from her desk and nearly has a heart attack. 

“Ever heard of announcing your presence?” Clarke hisses, and the Vulcan steps inside. 

“Perhaps you should learn to be more observational,” Anya says. Clarke rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair. 

“What can I do for you?” She asks. Anya sits stiffly in the chair opposite her, and Clarke hates the way she feels like she’s being scanned to her bones. 

“I thought I would brief you on Lexa’s health,” Anya says. Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “She has been well, with few incidences of bleeding. She spent two weeks in ritual meditation and balance ceremonies with Titus, and her connection to Heda is strong once again.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Clarke asks, and Anya shifts minutely in her seat. 

“Lexa is… _fond_ of you,” Anya says, and Clarke gets the impression that ‘fond’ isn’t a word the Vulcan feels exceptionally comfortable using. “She is also prideful and stubborn. I find it unlikely that she would talk of her weaknesses when you have such little time together.” 

“You're probably right,” Clarke says with a nod. “Thank you, for telling me.” Anya gives her a curt nod before standing and heading to the door. 

“One more thing, doctor,” Anya says, turning to look at Clarke. “Lexa cannot afford to be distracted from her duties. She is Heda, which means she belongs to her people, to her duty. You may hold Lexa’s heart in your hands, but the rest of her does not belong to you. It never can.” Clarke tries to swallow the knot that’s formed in her throat, and she nods. For a split second, something like pity or sympathy flashes across Anya’s face, but then the Vulcan is turning on her heel and the doors are closing behind her. 

The air in sickbay suddenly feels too stuffy, and Clarke digs her nails into her palms. Anya’s words hang in front of her, taunting her. It’s nothing Clarke hasn’t already figured out herself; she knows perfectly well that Lexa isn’t hers, not in the way she thinks they both would want someday. 

There’s always been an air of ‘someday’ with her and Lexa, Clarke thinks. ‘Someday’ they would tell people. ‘Someday’ there won’t be a war. 

Clarke hates that word. She’d really like to punch ‘someday’ right in its stupid face. But she can’t, so instead she takes a sonic shower and puts on a clean uniform. She shuts the lights off in sickbay and locks the doors behind her. 

The walk to the bay where Lexa’s ship is docked is short and quiet. Clarke is let on board with minimal fuss, the two guards letting her pass through, bowing their heads at her. She’s met by a girl in face paint and armour, who introduces herself as Tris. Clarke follows her through dim hallways, the lighting casting an orange tint on everything. Tris walks quickly and quietly, ignoring Clarke’s attempts at conversation, so instead Clarke tries to take in every detail she can. 

There are symbols on the walls that she doesn’t recognise, and every face she passes is adorned with tattoos or paint, wearing fearsome armour. She catches sight of what could be a mess hall, and she thinks she spots a training ring, two people surrounded by a large jeering crowd. 

“Heda’s quarters,” Tris says, and Clarke looks up at two double doors. Tris knocks and then nods her head in farewell, walking down the hall and leaving Clarke alone. 

The doors swing open and Clarke’s breath is taken away by the sight of Lexa in comfortable black clothes, her hair unbraided and softly falling down one shoulder. 

“Clarke,” Lexa greets, stepping aside and letting Clarke step inside. The doctor feels overdressed in her uniform, but there hadn’t been any room to pack for a casual dinner with the girl you’ve been sleeping with for the past months. 

“Your ship is lovely,” Clarke says, and she hates how suddenly awkward she feels. Anya’s words are still ringing through her head, even when Lexa gently takes her hand and kisses Clarke’s knuckles, pulling her close and ducking her head to leave a lingering kiss on Clarke’s lips. 

“Thank you for coming,” Lexa whispers against Clarke’s lips, and Clarke nods, wrapping her arms around Lexa’s waist and kissing her, parted lips and desperate hands. Lexa whimpers at Clarke’s insistence, and she manages to lead them behind a partition as they kiss. 

Lexa pulls back and looks at Clarke with wide eyes. “I really did mean dinner, Clarke.” 

“After,” Clarke says, untying the drawstring of Lexa’s pants. Lexa nods fervently, and she watches as Clarke drops to her knees, pulling her pants down her legs slowly. Clarke leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses along the inside of Lexa’s thighs, and she pushes Lexa back until her knees hit the edge of the bed. Lexa sits down and Clarke stands above her. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says, her voice breathy and verging on desperate. Clarke nods and straddles Lexa’s lap, dropping her jacket to the ground and pulling her shirt off in quick succession. Lexa lets Clarke push her back against the furs that cover the bed, and Clarke leans over her. Lexa looks like she’s going to say something, but Clarke shakes her head, covering Lexa’s mouth with her own. They kiss deep and slow, Lexa’s hands traveling the expanse of Clarke’s bare back, and Clarke drops her hips to roll against Lexa’s. Lexa grips Clarke’s hips in her hands and sits up, bringing Clarke up with her. 

“What is it?” Clarke asks when Lexa stalls her hands from pulling the Trill’s shirt off. 

“I…I did not invite you here just for sex, Clarke,” Lexa mumbles, and Clarke’s heart squeezes at how adorable Lexa can be. 

“I know that,” Clarke says, and Lexa looks up at her in a way that makes Clarke feel things that are too big for someday. 

“Did you come here simply for a physical encounter?” Lexa asks, her fingers tapping nervous patterns on Clarke’s back. 

“Oh, Lexa,” Clarke sighs, shaking her head, “you know I didn’t.” She lifts Lexa’s chin and kisses her, lips moving languidly. 

Lexa disconnects their lips and pulls her shirt off. Clarke traces the line of her spots with her lips, delighting in the way Lexa shivers under her touch. 

“I am not sure how much time we have,” Lexa says as Clarke weaves her fingers into thick brown hair, scratching at Lexa’s scalp. 

“Don’t think about that, okay?” Clarke says, kissing Lexa’s jaw. “Just focus on me, on us. Nothing beyond those doors matters right now.” Clarke knows there’s no way Lexa is actually going to be able to turn her Commander brain off fully, but Lexa is nodding and flipping their positions, pressing Clarke into the furs and Clarke loses herself in touches that are too meaningful for someday. 

 

* * *

Clarke wakes up alone in a pile of soft furs. The fibres tickle her bare skin, and she kicks the covers off, stretching her limbs. Propping herself up on her elbows, Clarke looks around Lexa’s quarters. There’s a pile of clothes folded neatly on the bedside table with a note on top of them. Clarke grabs the paper and unfolds it, smiling at the archaic nature of it all. 

_Clarke,  
_ _I was summoned to the bridge. Please, make yourself comfortable. I will be back as soon as I can.  
_ _The food is being kept warm in the replicator, and these clothes are for you. I hope they fit.  
_ _Lexa_

Clarke slips the clothes on, similar to the ones she pulled off Lexa’s body a while ago. The material is soft and loose, black pants and a red top. Clarke rolls the sleeves up and pads over to the replicator, grabbing the warm plate of food and taking it to the couch. It’s some type of stew, rich flavours filling Clarke’s mouth and a tender meat mixed in with a bunch of vegetables. She says slowly, savouring every bite of non-replicated food. 

She licks the bowl clean with only a little shame, her appetite healthy and the food delicious enough to justify her (admittedly gross) actions. Putting the dirty dish back in the replicator and watching it vanish, Clarke starts snooping. 

_She said to make myself comfortable_ , Clarke thinks to herself as she wanders around the quarters. She smiles at the familiar candles on every surface, the plants on the walls and the books that line a massive shelf. There’s art on the walls too, art that hadn’t been in Lexa’s quarters on the station. Paintings and drawings of forests and mountains, landscapes that draw Clarke’s eye, lining the walls all around the room. There’s a small set-up in a far corner, lit candles and a bowl of herbs. A symbol sits above it, a broken infinity sign. 

There’s a holo-projector on the table, and Clarke hesitates before turning it on. It flickers for a second before the image settles, and Clarke watches as faces appear and fade. 

A young woman with a playful smile and curly black hair winks at her. A tall man, face covered in tattoos with a stoic expression. A Trill boy, no more than twelve with a crooked smile and floppy blonde hair. And Clarke’s own face, a still image from her Starfleet file. 

“I’ll get her a better picture,” Clarke mumbles with a grimace, watching the faces cycle through again. She shuts it off before she can see her own picture again. A book is on the table next to the projector, and Clarke picks it up. “ _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ ,” she reads. She recognizes the title from her ancient Earth history class, though she never read it. Putting the book back on the table, Clarke wanders over to the shelf and reads titles. There are texts on philosophy, war, historical accounts. She cringes at the sight of the Romulan Epics, flashing back to her Galactic Lit class at the academy. Her fingers trail over the spines of Earth classics, books she remembers her father having on file. 

“I’ve spent many years collecting those,” Lexa says, startling Clarke. Clarke turns, a hand on her chest and she glares at Lexa. 

“Don’t sneak up on people like that,” she scolds, and Lexa offers a sheepish smile. 

“My apologies, Clarke,” she says, “I thought you would have heard me.” Clarke watches as Lexa unclips her armour and drapes her long red cape over the back of the couch. 

“It’s alright,” she says. Lexa toes off her boots and walks over to Clarke, wrapping her arms around her waist from behind and resting her chin on Clarke’s shoulder. A kiss is pressed into Clarke’s neck.

“I have read many books from across the galaxy,” Lexa says, “but Earth literature has always been my favourite. Your species is…filled with a whimsy I have yet to find in others.” 

“Whimsy?” Clarke laughs, and Lexa nods, her arms tightening around Clarke. 

“Perhaps a better word is ‘hope’,” Lexa says. “In all the romances, all the adventures, the human spirit perseveres through hope. I find it comforting, encouraging.” Clarke turns in Lexa’s arms and cups her jaw. 

“You don’t have any of your own hope?” Clarke asks, gently stroking Lexa’s cheeks with her thumbs. Lexa shrugs and her eyes flutter at Clarke’s touch. 

“I was raised on practicality, on reason,” Lexa says, and Clarke kisses her chin. “I have very little experience with relying on hope.” She tilts her head and kisses Clarke, her lithe body pressing into Clarke’s. 

Clarke slips her tongue past Lexa’s lips, her fingers sliding to tangle in the hair at the nape of Lexa’s neck. It’s a slow kiss, lingering and laced with so much affection that Clarke thinks her heart is going to leap into Lexa’s chest. 

Lexa pulls back and drops her hands from Clarke’s waist. “I have to attend a council shortly,” she says, regret in her voice and her eyes. Clarke nods, lowering her hands to rest at her sides. “I am sorry our plans have been disrupted, Clarke.” 

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Clarke assures her. “I should probably get back to my ship anyways.” Lexa nods, her eyes cast down. She steps away from Clarke and folds her hands behind her back. Clarke looks around the room for her uniform, but she can’t see it. “Do you know where my uniform is?” 

“I sent it to be cleaned,” Lexa says, and Clarke hates how she’s avoiding eye contact. “I apologise if that is an intrusion.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “It’s fine, Lexa.” 

“I will be sure it is returned to you as soon as it has been cleaned.” 

Clarke watches Lexa grab her shoulder guard and heft it onto her shoulder, clipping the straps together and draping the cape so it falls like liquid down her side. She watches as Lexa disappears under the weight and Heda emerges, her head held tall and her gaze hardened. 

Something aches in Clarke’s chest at the sight. 

“I will escort you back to your ship,” Lexa says, and Clarke feels herself nodding before she can really think about it. She puts her uniform boots back on and follows Lexa through the doors and down the hallways she’d walked before. 

Every person they pass stands aside and bows their heads to Lexa, thumping their right fists to their chests. Clarke feels their stares on her as she walks a half-step behind their Commander, and she _really_ wishes she was in uniform instead of walk-of-shame clothes. 

Lexa walks with Clarke until they reach the docking bay of Clarke’s ship. Lexa turns to Clarke and there’s a conflict in her eyes and her body. Clarke can see how Lexa fights the instinct to step forward, instead keeping her back ramrod straight and her eyes land on the wall behind Clarke. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Clarke says. Lexa nods and Clarke takes the slightest step towards her. “Lexa, look at me.” 

Lexa’s eyes slowly find Clarke’s, and Clarke wishes that the girl in front of her wasn’t so damn easy to read. 

“Thank you for your company, Clarke,” Lexa whispers, her eyes wide and wet. “I hope to see you around the station.” She makes to leave, but Clarke’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. Lexa freezes and looks at Clarke with pleading eyes. Clarke looks around the bay, and when she’s satisfied it’s empty, she pulls Lexa in and leaves a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. 

“If you ghost on me, Lexa, I’m going to kick your ass,” Clarke threatens her with a smile, and Lexa’s eyes crinkle the slightest bit. 

“Understood, doctor.” 

 

* * *

_The Federation Judiciary Council Chambers are cold. Clarke fidgets with the end of her formal uniform sleeve, shifting in her seat at the witness stand._

_“Lieutenant Commander Clarke Griffin,” President Umali says, and Clarke looks up at the thirteen members of the council, “you are here to give your testimony of the events that occurred on Stardate 60654.5 on the Planet Tiobos VII.”_

_Clarke nods, taking a deep breath. “I was placed in charge of the_ USS Arkadia. _I instructed the helm to plot a course to Tondisi Prime. We traveled at warp factor 4 and arrived within ten hours.Upon arrival, I sent down an away team to meet with the archaeologists. The team found them all dead, by seemingly natural causes. No foul play was suspected, and further investigation revealed cause of death as asphyxiation and inhalation of toxic fumes.”_

_“And you did not instruct the away team to engage with the local people?” A Vulcan council member asks._

_“I ordered them to return to the ship,” Clarke says._

_“And who was on this away team?” Another council member asks, his antennae twitching._

_“Lieutenant Commander Cuyler Ridley, Lieutenant Pascal Fournier, and Lieutenant Finn Collins.”_

_“At what point did you realize that Lieutenant Collins had not returned to the ship with the other members of the team?”_

_Clarke licks her lips nervously, clasping her hands together in her lap. “It wasn’t until we received reports of shots being fired on the planet that I noticed Finn- Lieutenant Collins hadn’t returned.”_

_“Why was there such a delay on sending people back down to the planet to stop Lieutenant Collins?” The Vulcan member speaks again, regarding Clarke from his seat with something akin to disdain._

_“There was a lot of atmospheric interference that stopped us from engaging transporters,” Clarke explains, “and our shuttles were undergoing maintenance. By the time we had managed to get a team down there, it was-it was too late. We beamed Lieutenant Collins straight to a secure sickbay, sedating him and running every test we could think of. He had no history of violent outbursts, nothing to indicate that this was something we should have been looking out for.”_

_“The medical report says that there was a toxin found in Lieutenant Collins’ system,” President Umali says. “An airborne virus that makes its way into the brain and raises activity in the amygdala and lowers prefrontal cortex activity.”_

_Clarke nods, familiar with the report she reads over every night when she can’t sleep. “He was insistent that he was seeing things. Enemies. The colonists turned into something that scared him and he fired. The colonists didn’t have any weapons, they were defenceless. Forty-four of them died before we could intervene.”_

_“When you rendezvoused with Captain Marcus Kane on Tiobos VII,” the President continues, “what actions were taken against Lieutenant Collins?”_

_“We arrived before Captain Kane,” Clarke says. “He had been delayed. I elected to have Lieutenant Collins put in a holding cell. He went without complaint.”_

_“When the mines began collapsing, did you release Lieutenant Collins from his holding cell?”_

_Clarke shakes her head. “No, he escaped. He heard the security officers talking about it I think, and he had intimate knowledge of the ship’s technology. I…I had forgotten to disable his security privileges, so he was able to make a direct site-to-site transport.”_

_“How many miners escaped before Lieutenant Collins died?”_

_Clarke’s heart squeezes and her stomach drops. “All of them.”_

_“Would you say that Lieutenant Collins committed an act of heroism?”_

_Clarke hesitates. She remembers being in the mine, urging Finn to hurry up as she ushered miners out of the tunnels. She remembers the small smile he gave her as he turned and ran back into the mine to save the last miner. She remembers Lieutenant Fournier rushing her to cut off the tunnel once the last miner came through the exit to contain the radiation, Finn’s voice over the comms telling her to press the button, that he wasn’t going to make it out in time._

_“Commander Griffin?” The President prompts her._

_Clarke blinks out of her reverie and looks up at the thirteen council members staring down at her. “Yes,” she says, “it was a sacrifice for the greater good. He personally saw to the escape of over one hundred miners we were unable to locate with our computers.”_

_The President nods and leans back in his seat. “Thank you, commander. You may go.” Clarke nods and stands, wiping her sweaty palms on her pants and following the security guard out of the chambers. She’s left standing alone in a large atrium, and she pulls at the sleeves of her uniform._

 

* * *

New orders come in the next morning. Clarke reads them over, frowning when she realizes that they’re going to be guarding the wormhole. The exact opposite of what was recommended. 

“Fucking bureaucrats,” she sighs. There’s an attached note from Commander Hayes saying that they’ll be departing within the next three days. “Delightfully vague,” Clarke grumbles, closing the messages with an angry tap of her finger. She twirls in her chair and huffs out a breath. 

Guarding the wormhole. A waste of resources and not a job that Clarke thinks she’ll be needed for.

A half-formed idea starts to take shape in Clarke’s mind, and she’s calling Admiral Kane over subspace before she can fully think it over.

 

* * *

Clarke stands next to Lexa, staring out at the sea of wary faces before her. 

“We are no longer without a medic,” Lexa is saying to her crew, “Dr. Clarke Griffin will be taking on that role for us as we head deeper into Azgeda controlled space. Her skill is unmatched, and she is to be treated with the respect that all crew members are afforded.” Lexa surveys the crowd and nods. “Dismissed.” The crowd disperses and Clarke waits until Lexa turns to her. 

“Thank you, Commander,” she says. Lexa dips her head in acknowledgement.

“Ryder will show you to your new sickbay,” she says, and the huge bearded man Clarke recognizes from the first station meeting steps forward. “If you require anything, do not hesitate to ask.” Clarke nods and then Ryder is guiding her off the raised platform. Before she leaves the room, Clarke chances a look over her shoulder at Lexa.

The Commander is staring back at her intensely as Anya talks to her. Clarke gives her a small smile, and she thinks she sees Lexa’s lips twitch upwards before Ryder is ushering her through the doors and Lexa is out of sight. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bada-bing, bada-boom, another chapter because Halloween seems to put me in a writing mood. Again, a million thanks to every single one of you readers, kudos-leavers, and commenters! Your kind words mean the world to me :) 
> 
> If you have any questions, comment, concerns, poems, you can find me on tumblr, same username as here.


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